Stark Smiles
by mattykins
Summary: I wondered if Matt would believe me when I told him that this whole time, I didn't know what was going on. At all. I was dancing in the past with the ghosts long gone. - Mello's past & present clash in chaos. MxM.
1. Prologue: Knowledge

**[[Ello! This is my first fanfic-- well, the one that I've actually let people READ, but that's beside the point -___-;; Anywho, this is basically going to be MxM, so if you don't like yaoi, I suggest reading it anyway until your eyes bleed to the point that you WANT to like yaoi!(: Okay sorry I'm bad. But there will also be some light, implied MxN as well, so prepare for the worst! I'm so glad that you (yes, you, lucky peanut gallery stander-outer) is reading this! Thank you so-so much!]]**

**Stark: **[_stahrk_] harsh, grim, or desolate; rigid in death; strong, powerful; complete: having reached the fullest extent or degree of something; without clothes: completely unclothed and uncovered.

It was one of those times.

It was definitely one of those times.

I could swear time froze; it stopped and then restarted. But when it restarted, everything was so different. Everything slowly cleared up, slowly resurfaced itself after all this time.

I wasn't myself.

But I was.

Things looked a little brighter, until they started slowly growing dimmer and darker as they kept coming, as I neared the end of…

My old self.

That's who I was. My old self. During these times…

There were times when I'd catch a glimpse of my stained past, when my subconscious mind would dig up a repressed memory, one I'd purposefully buried long ago, and throw it at my conscious mind. No barriers. No throwing them back. No reason. The only thing I could do was hope it was one of the few pleasant memories I'd had, but really, how many of those did I have? I was forced to watch them, forced to remember…

I reached up high, high onto my mother's hidden bookshelf in the back of her closet. Her and my father shared a bedroom, but had separate closets. My father had once said he didn't want my mother pilfering through his things and gave her the closet in the "office" downstairs.

I stood up onto my tippy toes and stretched as far as my six-year-old body would allow, and finally the tips of my fingers brushed dusty paper edges. My mother hid books in her closet, thankful that she had her own, for my father said that wives were not supposed to read, that their duty was to care for her husband and their children. She was a big fan of romances and science-fiction, I remembered. She didn't know that I was aware of her secret hobby. I was glad. She had this hidden from my father, and I didn't want her to worry that I would tell him. I wouldn't. I didn't want to get her in trouble.

I didn't want her to be hurt by him again.

I jumped and knocked down a book that landed on the floor with a loud thud. I cringed and peeked out the cracked bedroom door a few steps away. My father was still in his beat-up recliner, beer in hand, feet on the table, watching Wheel of Fortune. I sighed in relief and picked up the book with edges that weren't yellowed with age. So my mother had recently bought herself a new book? Huh. When did she get the time or money to do this? Let alone sneak past my father? I thought that she might have done it while grocery shopping.

I silently debated on which hideout to use today. There was the closet under the stairs that had an almost unseen turn at the end, where I had a desk light that emitted no light to the main space of the closet. I liked that cozy place a lot.

There was also the attic that my father was completely unaware of. It had a pull down ladder leading to it's depths in my room. It was pretty well-lit for having only one small window.

But… There was always The Lot.

Back in the extreme corner of the three approximate acres out house sat on, there was a wall-resembling mass of grass and weeds as tall as I was. I liked to sit behind it on a few bales of hay that I'd swiped from the back of the house and made into a makeshift couch for me to lounge on when I read or felt like escaping my father's strict "household" rules. It was by-far my favorite place to be when the weather was right. So, naturally, I chose The Lot, as I so called it.

Book in hand, I crept silently over to the edge of the bedroom, getting onto my hands and knees and crawling out the doggie door for the dog we didn't have that was, for some odd reason, in the office downstairs. It was the perfect size for me, though, and I slipped through hushed and concealed, like a ghost.

It was a two-minute walk to The Lot from the house, and, though it was on our property, I always had this paranoid feeling whenever I went there. Like… If my father would see me out a window and chase after me, stringing profanities, wanting to hurt me like he sometimes did. I had enough marks left from him… I didn't need another. He never knew about my reading habits, my hiding places, or even my vast extent of knowledge. I was sure that I knew more than he did, in a sense. He called me his "Sport," his "Chap," and his "Amigo," even though we didn't have a speck of Hispanic descent in our blood. In other words, I was his little sidekick, and he had me do a lot of his dirty work along with him.

But that didn't mean that I was his favorite person. It didn't mean that I was treated with special attention. In fact, being close to him was like getting the shit end of the stick. Each time I was caught doing something that was out of character for a man, like helping my mom cook or clean, writing in a journal, or even _praying_, I was hit. Whether it was a slap in the face, a kick in the ribs, or a punch in the jaw, I was always punished this way. It was never "Sit in the corner for a minute and think about your mistakes." It was never that simple. It was always, "Why don't you fucking listen!? Every time I tell you, _every time_, you betray my trust! Why don't you listen to my God damned words, Mihael!? Why don't you listen!? Why don't you ever _listen _for _once _in your_ fucked up life_!?" At the end of every day, I'd pray, pray that my father would understand. I never prayed against him. I always prayed for him. Quiet and reserved, I'd pray, "_Lord grant me a safe and restful sleep that I might awaken refreshed and eager to serve you. Amen… And also, if I may ask, please help my father understand me, understand my mother, understand our circumstance and help guide him to the right path. I know he can find it, he just needs a little help, that's all._" And with a child's smile, I would go to sleep, believing that God was going to help my father be a better person.

But that would never happen.

The midday sun beat down on my black clothes as I ran across the field of grass and bits of wheat and patches gravel. I got to The Lot and sat on the makeshift couch, made myself comfortable, and got to reading.

It wasn't a science-fiction novel or a romance novel, but something completely different. In fact, it wasn't even a book at all. It was a journal, bound in black leather with a black ribbon tied around it in a feeble attempt to hide its contents. With curious, bright green child's eyes, I untied the black ribbon and let it glide mutely to the ground by my feet. I opened it and the spine made cracking noises in protest, as if saying, "No, Mihael! You can't read me! I'm someone else's property!" But I didn't mind it. I was too curious, too interested in what might be contained on it's smooth, white pages…

What was contained would change everything I knew.

It was in my mom's neat cursive, and I dove into her words without hesitation. I was taking a leap into her life, into her mind, looking at things from a film of glass from her eyes.

_December 13, 1989Today is a truly wondrous day. I gave birth to my first child and it is a fantastic baby boy. I named him Mihael, pronounced my-hail. He was 6 lbs and 1 oz. at birth-- what a small baby! I was worried he would not be healthy enough to withstand the birthing process, but he proved me wrong. I know that he is strong enough to bear anything if he tries._

_He has my blonde hair and his father's emerald eyes-- I'm just hoping that that will be the only part of his father he inherits. I do not want him to be like his father. Lord please, bless his soul, but I do not want him to be like his father._

I thought about this entry. My father did not have green eyes. His were black, the color of his iris matching that of his pupil, so it was always frightening to be glared at by him. Why did she say that I had my father's eyes.

I had never thought about this before… Now that I _was_ thinking about it, my mother had blue eyes, and my father's were black. Neither of them had green eyes. Not one speck. I ignored this oddity and flipped forward a few entries.

_April 4, 1990_

_My husband hit me for the first time today. He threw a hand across my cheek so hard that I'm black and blue on one side of my face. I am crying as I write this, and my hand is shaking. He threatened to hurt dear baby Mihael, and I wouldn't allow it. Mihael is my child, and I will not allow him to be subject to any form of pain or suffering on my account or anyone else's, for that matter. I will protect him no matter what it takes._

Wow, my mother was… is… a remarkable woman. I truly envied her sense of justice…

With trembling fingers, I flipped through another chunk of pages and read that entry.

_August 24, 1991_

_My best friend, Angela, had her baby today. I am very excited for her. He was only 5 lb. and 3 oz. Even smaller than Mihael! He was born with strange, silvery colored hair. It puzzles me! He is quite pale, as is Angela, even paler than my Mihael. He reminds me of a little snow baby. Maybe he and Mihael may have a few playdates? Angela is exhausted at the hospital, so I will remember to ask her within the week. Perhaps they can become good friends._

I recognized the baby as my mother's friend's son, Nate. He was obviously younger than I by a year and a half, and he was never interested in playing with me. I didn't care, I had all I needed. Though he did seem to take a liking to me as I did him, I was the one that taught him many things; how to ride a bike (albeit he hated it and demanded to go inside immediately, how stubborn. His frail body couldn't take the physical demands, anyway.), how to use a toilet properly, and all of his manners. They all came from me.

But his mother died in June of last year and his father was incapable of raising him on his own. He was sent to an orphanage to be cared for properly. I wondered sometimes if he had been sent to a home as nice as his mother's.

I didn't think much of it at the time.

But I kept reading.

_May 19, 1995_

_Mihael will have to leave sometime this month. We have already signed him into the orphanage he will be staying in. I signed him into the Catholic based orphanage. I know he will appreciate that. I will miss him so terribly that I can not even bear to write anything to it._

This entry… was yesterday, I thought. How could she…? What did she mean…?

Leave?

Me?

Orphanage?

How could I appreciate something that wasn't my home, wasn't my mother?

The words continually echoed throughout my head in the pale sunlight. _Have to leave. Catholic orphanage. Miss him…_

Suddenly, I was being hoisted up by my shoulders, the journal falling out of my hands and rapidly hitting the ground. I let out an audible gasp, then started batting my arms and legs around, hoping to hit whoever was trying to take me away from my hidden spot. I didn't hit anyone, and soon I was being thrown against the hay couch. I let out a yelp at the pain that shot through my back and looked up at who was guilty of such acts against me.

It was my father.

Or so I had thought for basically my whole life. How could they lie to me? To _me, _a child? Because children were so easy to lie to. You could feed them lies for ages, answer every question they asked with something false and they would believe it.

I believed them.

It was the man that I thought to be my father for so long, never knowing, never even wondering who my real father was.

My eyes widened at the sight of his silhouette against the bright sun and he frowned, a snarl on his lips. "What are you doing out here, Mihael!?" he shouted angrily. "What did I tell you earlier? I told you to stay in your room! Your mother was out doing groceries and I told you to stay in your fucking bedroom!" I was out of breath and lying against the seat of the hay, and he stared at me with such rage, such hatred, that I thought that his expression alone would tear right through me and sear my brain.

His eyes shifted to curiosity and flickered over to the ground. "What's this?" he said, and bent over to pick something up. It was the journal, and my breathing either quickened or stopped-- I couldn't tell. He flipped through the pages and read about two sentences, and snapped it shut. He held it up near his face and shook it around. "What the _fuck_ is this!? How long have you known about this, you little shit!? Huh!? Just how long have you known about all these things in here, that your fucking slut of a mother reads, that she is rebelling against me, all of this!?"

I sit there, quiet, saying absolutely nothing. Scum deserve to know nothing.

"Answer me!"

"I don't have to," I said.

"Yes you fucking do!"

"No, I don't!"

His rage turns to full out wrath as he swings down the journal with full force. It caught the side of my head and forced it to the side. I could feel a warm liquid dripping down the side. "Tell me!"

"I don't have to tell you anything!"

"You're my son, I am your _father_ and you will tell me RIGHT NOW!"

I scowled and shook my head. He was wrong… He was so wrong and he knew it, he knew it… "You're not my _fucking_ father," I said bitterly, cursing for the first time in my life. It felt good-- I felt power behind my words.

In a flash, my head is smacked to the other side and more blood splatters across the hay and ground in large amounts. It happens again and again, and I can feel my blood all going all over the place. I don't fight back, just take what I'm receiving and let it happen.

It was the first time I just let something happen.

My blood covered the whole area, and I watched it flow, watched it flow straight out of me and onto the ground surrounding me, marking my place.

All I did was think about my real father.

Why did she say I have my father's green eyes?

Why did she not want me to be like my father?

All I did was wish that I'd known all of this sooner.

But I guess it was better off that I didn't.

Scum deserve to know nothing.


	2. Part 1: Entertain

**[[Alright, back here with Part 1! Yeaa. Alright. Not much to say here except yay & thank you for reading! Not about to put spoilers in the a/n, so, read on(; Thanks again.]]**

* * *

"_The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough, It takes us a lot of your time. What do you get at the end of it? A death! What's that, a bonus? I think the life cycle is all backwards. You should die first, get it out of the way. Then you live in an old age home. You get kicked out when you're too young, you get a gold watch, you go to work. You work for forty years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. You do drugs, alcohol, you party, you get ready for high school. You go to grade school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a little baby, you go back in the womb, you spend your last nine months floating… and you finish off as an orgasm."_

_**-George Carlin (American standup comedian, actor, & Author, born 1937)**_

I awoke to the ear-piercing, nasally sound of my laptop making noises at me, telling me that its battery was about to die. Fuck, I get it, I get it! I went to the desk where the desktop computer sat and rifled through all of the drawers and the multiple cables that were there, trying each one on the laptop's power input plug… thing… I groaned in annoyance to find that none of the plugs fit properly and finally I shoved one in the input, hell-bent on _making_ it fit into the stubborn thing. It didn't charge, so I shouted angrily, "Damnit, you stupid hunk of metal! I'm going to rip all of your keys off one by one if you don't charge!"

Wouldn't you know it, the damn thing began to charge.

I let out a huff of breath and plopped back on the black, somewhat uncomfortable couch where I'd fallen asleep with the laptop on the glass table in front of me. I pinched the bridge of my nose hard between two fingers in a weak attempt to dull the throbbing pain in my head, and closed my eyes tightly. But against my eyelids, I only saw images of that man, that cowardly, pathetic man that used to beat a child and a woman. So I forced my eyes to stay open despite the way they seemed to sag from sleep deprivation.

So far… They've been coming in order. Most have been in my sleep, but it's happened while I was awake… It's like I'm on autopilot when it happens. As long as they keep coming in the right order, I could get the information that I needed.

I grabbed the TV remote and pressed the ON button. The news was on, and I sank into the cushions. I was always interested in what went on in the city that I rarely went out in, always aching to see the reports on the latest deaths which, since my arrival, have been slowly increasing. I felt smug at this.

One by one, the city's population was falling. I smirked.

Tonight would be just another night, I thought. Just another night on the city; just another bar, another club, another party to crash. My head rushed at the idea and I actually felt anxious, almost excited for tonight's plan. I started to feel a little dizzy.

I was going to a club, but it was one I'd never been to. I'd heard that it was pretty high notch; it took a really grand kind of person to get in that kind of place. Served only the best hooch, the best alcohol. The music was good and the girls were hot. Celebrities couldn't even get in there.

If it were any sooner, I would wonder how I was going to get inside. But I had that all taken care of about a week ago, with my fellow comrade, Rod Ross. He was the head of an elite mafia that ran most of the businesses around here, kept society going, and they didn't even know. "It's alright," Rod once told me. "We're not looking for fame. We're just in it for the money and girls, am I right?"

Nothing could go wrong with my plan tonight. Nothing.

I was going to go in there. Act casual. Drink a glass or two, maybe have a few shots. It's not like that shit affected me anyway. Pay for it with money earned by good, clean, theft. Make chit chat with a certain person. Get him drunk. Get him high, if I had to. Make him come home with me.

I was afraid he wouldn't remember. Afraid he wouldn't remember me, his childhood, the times we had spent together in that God forsaken place. Afraid he wouldn't remember my face or my name.

But what I was more afraid of is that he _would_ remember me.

But I couldn't forget… I couldn't forget what I'd forced myself not to remember…

* * *

I couldn't help but think _Thank you so fucking much, Ross,_ while waiting the short few seconds upon arriving. The line was horribly long, extending past the edge of the building, twisting and turning in a snake-like path around the block. Anyone waiting was sure to either grow roots in the sidewalk in the nasty, time-consuming line, or just fall over and die. People were nearly humming and buzzing with pure excitement as if they thought they were going to get in. Who knows, maybe they would.

Just not tonight. I chuckled at the thought.

I walked right up to the front like Rod had told me to. The shady, slick-looking bouncer-doorman-guy took one look at me in my leather pants and jacket and aviator sunglasses, and immediately opened the door for me. That's it. No fancy, "Welcome, sir," (not that I expected-- or wanted-- it) and no velvet ropes. This place was definitely no cliché of just another lame and tacky Los Angeles club.

The people at the front of the line (who I could tell were already hopelessly wasted, how long had they been waiting in line to get to the front?) gaped at me and let out shocked "Oooooo's" at my arrival and ingress, like I was some kind of big shot superstar that they got to see in real life. I kept my head held high and didn't give them a second glance as I walked through the massive metal doors. They were nothing to me.

The music was pumping loudly, the bass so high that I could feel it thick in my chest. Multicolored lights were flashing everywhere like inside a typical rave, but half-naked girls danced in suspended cages like in a fetish club. It was a whole lot of fucking awesome tossed into one, but not in a cheesy way. It was very well put together, I had to admit. No wonder it was considered the best of the best. No, it wasn't considered. It _was_.

I took my sunglasses off to better see what we in front of me, and tucked them in my jacket's pocket.

I noticed people dancing in one huge mass, moving together with the tempo of the music blasting through the speakers and subwoofers that lined the edges of the ceiling. The floors lit up in changing colors, and the mass of dancers was one big swaying, jumping silhouette. I made my way to the lengthy bar with no interest in sweaty, meaningless grinding and dancing, surprisingly finding an empty stool among all the occupied ones. So I took it. The counter was much like the dance floor, with changing colors. I got the bartender's attention quickly and easily with just my appearance. She looked up at me with eyes covered much like a raccoon's in dark makeup. But it looked good on her, I thought. Her dark hair was tied in a slick ponytail, bangs pinned up, too. She wore a simple white, v-neck t-shirt, exposing just the right amount of cleavage to not be considered slutty, and black skinny pants. She had a glass in her hand, a towel in the other, drying it hastily.

"What'll ya have?" she asked, eyeing me curiously. I couldn't be the first person in here she's seen that wears leather, could I?

I tapped the side of my fist on the bar and think. "Ah, scotch on the rocks." I said.

She smiled at me. "Keepin' it simple?"

I nodded.

"Alright. One sec." She sets down the glass, fills it with ice, bends down, grabs a bottle and promptly fills it with scotch. "There ya are."

"Thanks."

"No prob. Shout Sandra if you need another." With a flash of perfect white teeth, she disappears down the bar. I watch her as she caters to another person, flipping and tossing the bottles over her head, behind her back, and filling several cups at once. People shout and cheer at her as she smiles and hands them the drinks. So that's why she was entertained that I'd only ordered something so plain and simple. She wanted to show off her flaring skills.

I polished off the rest of my drink and called loudly, "Hey, Sandra!" and her head snapped up from cleaning glasses. She hurried over to where I sat.

"Need a refill, dull and boring?" she mocked me, grinning.

I chuckled. "Nah. But you _can_ get me a Sex on the Beach," I told her triumphantly.

"That's it?" she asked, not even bothering to hide her amused smile. She crossed her arms against her chest and leaned against the back counter of the bar.

"Shit, ah…" I think harder for a really complicated, really impressive drink. It finally hits me, and I'm grinning when I tell her what it is. Her eyes widen in shock, probably because she thought that I never got out much. She probably thought that I was a shut-in wannabe who just went out and bought this whole outfit yesterday just to come here.

Tch.

"You got it, Tiger," she said, matching my devious grin, then ducked to get all of the things to put in it. I was going to love this, I knew it. I wanted to watch her struggle as she attempted to make this amazing, difficult drink.

Only she was going through it like it was an adventure, a smile on her face the whole time. She flared the bottles and poured from behind her back, from above her head. People were now crowding behind and around me to watch her flare. Someone actually put a hand on my shoulder to try to jump and see what was going on. I shrugged them off and resisted the tempting urge to turn and sock them in the nose. They all whooped and hollered for her, which only fed her ego. She even spun the glass once it was over without any liquid coming out. She practically slammed the glass on the bar in front of me when she was done. She crossed her arms once more. "Any more requests, sweetie?"

"W-wow. Damn." I took a gulp of the drink. "It tastes perfect," I hated admitting.

"I know," was all she said as she walked away, hips sashaying back and forth naturally.

Well, at least I knew I wasn't ever going to be the best at _that_. Not that I wanted to, anyway.

I turned around in my stool and looked out at the swaying and jumping crowd, leaping in time with the music. The crowd had dispersed with the show being over. I could still feel the bass in my chest, and I swear I could feel it now in the glass in my hand. I took another gulp and let its carbonated feeling sit on my tongue, let myself feel the momentary sting.

I saw people groping and grinding on each other erotically, people sweating and not caring because here, it was sexy to sweat. Everyone here looked sexy when they sweat. I noticed not one person that didn't look good. Everyone here was good-looking, and they knew it. They were proud of it, and they obviously used their looks to get in here. _If you got it, flaunt it, and know where you belong._

I knew I belonged with the attractive people. Hell, I was drop-dead sexy. I was irresistible. Girls (and guys, for that matter) loved me and clung to me like a fat kid to a slice of chocolate cake. If you could talk to me, get close to me, leave the bar or club with me, hell, you were considered a God. That's how it was always looked at.

Until they ended up missing or showed up dead within the next few weeks and no one knew it was me because they were too hammered to remember shit.

That was how it always worked out. Well, worked out for _me_ anyway.

Not so much them. I didn't really care for them.

The mass of people kept moving, song after song, with no pause in between, because the songs had no pause in between. It was like one track flowed into the next. It was all part of their master plan to keep people busy dancing so they would buy more to drink and stay longer. Don't give them time to think, just react.

I knew because that was something I went by, too.

I knew he was never the type to dance. He was never really up for anything physical at all, really. He was always the one sitting inside, and would complain if you ever made him do something other than that. I never really thought him to be the clubbing type, either. He wouldn't fit in. He just wouldn't.

But who knows? I caught word that he would be here, so I had to look. Maybe he'd changed. Maybe he _was _the physical, partying and dancing type now. I wouldn't know. All I _did _know was that I had to find him and I'd do anything it took to get to him before that little shitty kid did. Because if that kid got to him, then I'd never have a chance.

I'd never see him.

The platinum background of the high bar walls seems to reflect all the lights at just the right level, so I wasn't blinded by fucking rainbows when I turned back around to set my glass on the counter and left a few high bills under the glass. The cute bartender Sandra picked them up almost right after I stood up. I could tell she was grinning because she'd won. She _did _win. I had to give her that. I wasn't afraid to admit that she beat me at something.

I continued on down the bar, eyeing the people curiously in the semi-reflections of the background. A few girls caught me looking and giggled. One girl turned around and crossed her legs. She smiled at me and said seductively, "Hey, cutie."

I stopped to lean against the bar next to her. "Hey," I said casually, though I knew I sounded like just another jerk that wanted to get in her pants. But she didn't seem to care. She looked like that was what she wanted; just another dick to jump in bed with her.

She tossed a thick bunch of perfect, wavy black hair behind her shoulder, revealing the fact that she was wearing a strapless top. It suited her, I thought. She had major cleavage and she flaunted it like her top priority. She was wearing a short, short black leather skirt and knee high lace-up boots, looking like a more feminine version of me.

Fuck, she was hot.

"Can I buy you a drink?" she asked, being too far down the bar to have noticed Sandra making me that drink in a huge glass. She reminded me of that celebrity Kim Kardashian.

I chuckled and shook my head. "Nah, just had the biggest cup of whatever that was in the world."

She scoffed. "Oh, I saw that. That slutty bartender, Sandra." She rolled her eyes, as if the sound of her name annoyed her, and having to actually speak her name flat out disgusted and revolted her. "I hate her so much."

"Why?" I asked, intrigued. How could someone hate a sweet girl like Sandra? She actually reminded me of myself in girl form; compelling and competitive. If you mixed this girl's daring outfit style and Sandra's personality, you get Chick-Mello. I think I'd be in love with myself.

The leather girl shook her head. "She sleeps with every guy she meets at the bar that she likes. Like some kind of programmed hooker."

I laughed at this, and she looked at me like she didn't expect it to be that funny, then joined in on my laughs. I knew she was lying, she was just jealous and wanted my attention. I'd been through this dilemma a thousand times. "Well, she didn't want to sleep with me. That's kind of a let down now that I think about it," I lied, and laughed a bit more.

Her eyes light up as if she just had a revelation and she just _had _to spew it out right this second. As if her brain is on some crazy kind of overflow and she can't prevent the words from coming out, she says, "I'd sleep with you."

I stop laughing and look at her. Fuck sake, she was sexy. If it were any other night, I'd take her sorry ass to my place and screw her brains out till she screamed my name into the night.

But this wasn't any other night.

This was _the_ night.

"Shit, ha-ha, I'm sorry," I said. "Okay, I lied. I'm not really _that_ sorry. It's just that I'm looking for someone, and there not going to be here for long." Lie. "I need to find him--"

"You're gay!?" she yells over the sound of the music.

I laugh. "Nah, but what's it to you?" I laugh even more and detach myself from the bar. "See you later. Or not." Hope so.

The music drowned out any snide remark she'd made as I walked away down the bar, my feet hitting the floor to the tempo of the music coincidentally. I continued to the darkest part of the club, where a stairway led to the spacious balcony-like lounge that ran across two walls of the club. The stairs were the same as the dance floor and the bar counter. Soon I was at the top, and I could easily spot Rod's masculine, shirtless figure lounging on a velvet couch across the way. He saw me right away, too, and called me over.

"Aye, Mello! Come and have a seat with us!" he yelled across the way. I shrugged and continued over to where they were and sat on the armrest of the couch where Rod was.

"Hey, Ross," I greeted him.

His arm was draped possessively over an Asian-looking girl in skimpy vinyl clothes that left almost nothing to the imagination. I knew that Rod liked his girls that way. Petite, which made most of them Asian, and wearing next to nothing. She smiled up at me provocatively and licked her lips as if she were bored of Rod and wanted me to take her away from him.

Whore.

"So, find your man yet?" Rod asked me. He looked around for a quick second then added, "Looks like a no."

"Nope, not yet," I confirmed. "I really thought he would be here though. Haven't seen him?"

"I did see him," he said. "He was up here earlier. Wearing that weird ass getup you told me he probably would, just a little different. He's a weirdo, I tell ya. I didn't tell you he was here cause I didn't know if you were gonna come like you said you would." He shrugs like it's not a big deal.

I stood up from the armrest, pissed. "Fuck, Rod, I said I was coming. If I say I will, I will. Get that?"

He chuckled like I just told him a joke. The little hooker next to him giggles and covers her mouth with one hand as if covering up her nasty actions would make her a proper prostitute; only it doesn't. "My bad, Mello." He looked down the lounging area a ways, then turned back to me and said, "I think he might still be here. Haven't seen him leave yet, huh fellas?" A bunch of the guys sitting around there mumbled no's, nuh-uh's, and shook their heads. "See, Mello? Now go find that bastard and quit your girly whining. Fucking badass."

I hear a low chuckling sound come from the other couch and I whipped my head over to see Daniel sitting on one of the chair's armrests. He was bent over, laughing, his black hair covering his eyes. Daniel was a pale German boy with dark hair and dark eyes that never betrayed him. He was like Near's opposite, and that was what they shared. He was skinny, much like me, but he wore t-shirts and tight jeans instead of tight leather pants.

"What's so funny?" I asked him, jerking my head in his direction. I didn't see what was worth laughing at. Unless he was laughing at Rod calling me a girly whiner.

Daniel brought his head up to look at me, hair still dangling slightly in his eyes. It was almost as long as mine. "Just you," he said nonchalantly. He shook his head and flipped his hair out of his eyes. I narrowed my eyes at him and walked closer. He looked up at me and couldn't help but keep laughing.

I grabbed his white rosary that was hanging down off of his neck and yanked him upward by it so his head was tilted up toward me. He was still giggling, but not like a little girl. "Shut the fuck up," I told him, "or I will splatter your brains all over that dancing crowd down there."

"Alright, alright," he said, the ghost of a German accent lingering in his words. He bit his lip to suppress more laughs from betraying him. I let his rosary fall back to his chest and I turned on my heel and walked quickly down the lounge, hands clenching and unclenching into fists unnervingly as I walked. I had a million thoughts going through my head at the moment, but with Daniel and Rod long forgotten, only one stuck out in particular.

He was here.

He was here and I was finally going to see him, after so many years apart. I was finally going to see my friend whose help I needed so bad.

But I hadn't thought of a single thing to say. I was so hell-bent on finding him that I hadn't thought of what I would say to him once I _did._ Shit.

I figured it wouldn't be a gushy little reunion, since neither of us were really the schmaltzy type anyway.

I was afraid he wouldn't remember me, our childhood, the times we had spent together. Afraid he wouldn't remember my face or my name.

But what I was more afraid of is that he _would_ remember me and things would die on the spot, or he'd reject the thought of me finding him like I was some crazy stalker. Afraid that he'd wanted nothing to do with me since I'd left.

Before I knew it, I could see him.

I could see him in a chair, drinking a beer while all the people around him drank extravagant things. Just a classic beer.

He was dressed as I thought he would be. And damn, he hadn't changed a bit. I was glad.

I silently and slowly approached where he was sitting and put myself on the armrest of the leather chair where he sat, much like I did with Ross. Leather grinded against leather and the sound was a horrific squeak. I leaned over so I could speak in his ear and he would hear me over the music.

"Hey, Matty. Missed you," I said nonchalantly, and I wasn't sure if the beat in my chest was from the music or if it was my heart going crazy because of Matt.

* * *

**[[Awrighty, so yes, he's finally found Matt. Giggidy giggidy! (ignore that). I tried to build up suspense & make it sound like he was looking for Near (I.e., he was a childhood **_**friend**_** as well) albeit you most likely already knew that it was Matt because, well, obviously, this is all about Matt & Mello. Phew. Well, reviews are **_**greatly**_** appreciated!(; Thank you for reading! Stay "tuned" for Part 2. & I apologize in advance for any of my weirdness that might be (or has already been) a total Buzzkill. & for uploading this so late! I may have to go back and fix something because I'm such a noob, this will probably end up in the wrong spot -pouts-]]**


	3. Part 2: Reminisce

"_We can make this thing into a party, instead of a memory."_

**-Will Rogers (American entertainer, famous for his pithy and homespun humor, 1879-1925)**

He leaned away from me and scooted over in the huge leather chair that seemed to swallow him instead of act as a seat. He eyed me curiously through black-rimmed goggles with orange lenses that I could barely see in the dim lighting. I wondered how he could see through them at all. He was all "done up" in his long sleeve striped shirt as always, but with some weird-looking kinda furry vest over the top, and a pair of jeans with all different shades of blue denim in wide stripes. Heavy black boots were pulled over the top of them. His hands had black gloves on and in one of those hands was a bottle of beer.

_See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek! _I shoved down my lame, Shakespeare-esque thoughts, shaking my head and letting my hair fall into a sexy disarray. _Should I be the beer in his hand, I might touch those lips--_

"Excuse me," he said, his breath reeking of booze. "Do I know you?"

I grinned and leaned closer to his face, leaving him no room to back away from me again. "Matt, don't you remember?" I asked.

"Sorry, I don't really remember any psychos getting all close to me and pestering me," he answered, trying to take a swig of his beer, but realizing there was no use because I'd left him no room to do so. "Now, dude, back the hell up. You're making me uncomfortable, and I-I don't want to start anything."

That was always him, being a little girl about things and not wanting to start anything. I, on the other hand, always wanted to start something. I never passed an opportunity to fight someone; no matter how big the guy, I always won, and later when no one was there, his brains ended up all over the brick walls of an alley later. It was all part of the process.

To what?

Heh, I really didn't know.

"Awh, but Matt!" I said, putting my face only a centimeter away from his. The leather combo made another annoying sound. I was grinning and he looked like he'd piss his pants if I touched him. He smelled great, like fresh, thick cologne and pure fucking sex. I laughed mentally at the thought. He squished himself against the side of the chair awkwardly, trying to put as much distance between him and the newfound creep as possible. "C'mon. Really?" I put my left hand out on the other armrest, more leather against leather, which locked him in the chair. He ripped his attention from my face for a split second to see what I did, and I wasn't not sure if he looks scared or excited. I could tell other people around were eyeing us nosily. By the way my hair fell in front of our faces, it probably looked like I was kissing him. "You don't remember me?"

"How can I!? Your face is like an inch from mine! I can't see!" he complained (or whined… sounding much like a little kid, might I add), still trying to hide himself in the cushions.

I chuckled. I was getting a kick out of this. I leaned even closer so I could say this softly in his ear, letting out another vicious squeak that tore through my eardrums. If the music wasn't so loud, the whole club would be able to hear it. My rosary clicked gently against his neck and chest, and my lips lightly brushed his earlobe. "Matt… It's me, Mello."

There was a crash of glass next to him and I knew that he'd dropped his beer on the ground. The remains leaked onto the floor and he was still as could be. His breathing was either irregular or had completely stopped-- I couldn't tell.

"M-me-ell…" he started, but just couldn't get my name through his lips.

I sat back away from him, but he didn't move back to a normal sitting position. Instead, he seemed to study me through his orange tinted goggles in his uncomfortable-looking position. His eyebrows were raised in alarm when he suddenly realized that it was, in fact, me, and he sat up straight to get a better look at the new me, all decked out in leather and shit, brand new rosary, and see the difference in the way I held myself.

Well, I'll be damned. He did remember.

"Yeah, Matt. I'm back, or you're back, or I found you or whatever. I never really expected you to go to the United States either. Your accent is gone, too. Ha ha ha!" I shook my head and let some hair fall over my eyes. He was still silent. "Well, bloody hell," I said, staring down at the now speechless Matt. "At least say something."

"I can't believe you're back," he managed to say through trembling lips. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he were about to cry.

I rolled my eyes. "I think we've established that, Matty." I extended my arm toward him and waited for him to take it. "Now c'mon. Lemme buy you a drink. Because…" I looked down at the broken glass on the floor and nudged some of it aside with the tip of my boot. "You're kind of out. Let's go."

He reluctantly took my hand and let me hoist him up. I walked to the bar up there, and he followed like a loyal little puppy dog, and we've technically only "just met." Leaned against the bar and Matt took a stool near me. Waved my hand to the bartender. Up here, it was a big tan guy, roughly about the size of Matt and I put together. He had tattoos snaking up and down his bulgy arms and a shaved head. Definitely the opposite of that Sandra girl, up here. Not in the least bit frightening, but to Matt, maybe intimidating. He was polishing a glass and when we came up to the bar, he put it back. "What can I get you two?" he asked.

"He'll have gin and tonic. I'll have Kahlua and milk." I don't feel like I just ordered a sissy drink for myself, but the way he looked at me suggests I did. He came back a minute later with both drinks and eyed Matt with some sort of knowing concern.

"You a friend of Matt's?" the man asked me curiously. I nearly spit up my drink. The bartender only raised an eyebrow. Were they friends of some sort? It was hard to imagine.

I composed myself then said, "Yeah, since childhood." I felt proud to say it.

He looked from Matt to me with a suspicious look of unease. "Take good care of the kid, will ya?"

I didn't know what he meant by that at the time, but I said, "Will do, Sheriff," in a completely serious tone, and took another gulp of my drink. Matt had already finished his, and he asks for another. He chugs that one down almost immediately after getting it.

"Damn, slow down…" I urged him, though I willed him to drink more and more. _Get drunk, Matt. Get fucking hammered._ I watched him finish the second glass and let out a long breath.

"Well, shit. I really can't believe it's you," he said.

I laughed. "Are you going to say anything else?"

"Seriously, though! I really can't. It's like… Well, you look the same." He shrugged and took another sip of his drink. "Dunno how I didn't recognize you." He took another gulp. "Maybe it was the leather. That's new."

"Maybe it was those Digimon goggles."

"Huh?"

I laughed and shook my head. "That kid from that one cartoon-- never mind."

Puzzled, he shrugged again and finished his third drink. "Why did you wait so long?" he asked, not prodding. The bartender brings him another glass of gin and tonic and I'm still on my first glass of Kahlua and milk.

I shrugged and took another swig. "I dunno. Guess it just wasn't that important at the time." Matt's expression looked a little crestfallen at my words. "Relax," I added. "I didn't mean _you_ weren't important. Shit, you were my best friend." I wore a smile, hoping he'd get the picture. "I mean, how can I even stand leaving my best friend behind? It bugged me for the longest time, Matt. Till now. I'm just… Just glad I found you, okay?"

He perked up a bit and said, "Mells, I was your _only_ friend," taking another long drink of his gin and tonic.

I socked his shoulder and said, "Yeah, don't rub it in. I know those other kids didn't really like me. Especially that little…"

But there was still the other side of me that he didn't know, and I hoped he never would have to find out about it, either.

And just like that, I was being dragged by my ankles into the black abyss, being clawed at until I could trip and fall myself into the chasm of nothing but the aged and frayed-at-the-edges clips that I called my repressed memories. There were claws around my ankles, continuing up my legs and digging into my knees, almost as if one would imagine being dragged into Hell. True, this was my own personal Hell. I could feel myself being pulled in, and I didn't fight it. I almost welcomed it this time.

* * *

"No, mom! No!" I shouted and shouted, hoping she could hear me, help me somehow. "No! Don't let them take me! You can't let them take me!" I fought and struggled against the man's arms that were holding me by my waist and pulling me towards the black car with windows tinted so dark, I wondered if he was the driver or an extra passenger. It was the kind of car that I wouldn't mind driving myself. It was pure luxury, especially compared to the old rust bucket that my father was supposed to be fixing up for me for when I'm sixteen, even though that was a long way from now.

It was a long, downhill path to the curb from my front porch.

My mother's lapis lazuli-resembling eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks had tear tracks running down them, but they still glistened with even the dullest, slightest hope like the two jewels they were. She couldn't even make out clear words because she was sobbing so much. Her arms were crossed so tightly that I feared she might have added more bruises to her arms to the ones that she already had. Her hair hung in ringlets around her face, free from her ponytail. I always thought she looked prettier with her hair down, but now wasn't adding to that opinion. My father, so I thought him to be for as long as I could remember, was standing right there next to her, a huge, dry, calloused hand holding her forearm possessively. He was squeezing the flesh too tight, making it turn white around his hand, and no doubt leaving even more purplish-black welts. She cried harder when he tugged her towards the house. She uncrossed her arms and tried to pull toward me, a futile attempt against the monster holding her back. I wanted to shout at him, to curse at him again like I had earlier, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I just couldn't bring myself to say the things that needed so badly to be said.

"Mom!" I yell, hoping for some kind of goodbye. I needed to say goodbye to her. I needed the closure. I needed to know that she loved me as much as I'd always loved her for everything she did for me. "_Mom_!" I could feel the momentary sting come on in my eyes, but I ignored it.

My mother got home just before the services had gotten here, and she'd gotten a lovely beating from my father that lasted for ten minutes straight before they'd arrived. She never fought back because she knew she'd never win. Neither of us would have ever won against him.

They thought that she was crying because she was losing me, her flesh and blood, but that was only part of the whole.

"Mom! Momma! _Please_, Momma! Don't let them take me away from you!" I was screaming now, so far away from the house at the curb. The man kept lightly pulling me away from the only thing I was able to mutely call a home in my whole God forsaken life. Although it was my own personal Hell on Earth, I could call it a home. It was the only place I'd known. I had to face the fact now that there was no more Mom to cook, no more Mom to clean, no more Mom to kiss your "boo-boo's" when you got hurt. There was none of that, and I may as well have been on my own by the way it sounded to me.

My eyes started welling up, threatening to spill over, and eventually they did a little bit. I tried to mask it by swiping my sleeve across my face really quick before swatting it at the man's arm (he had a surprisingly strong grip for a man who looked rather aged). I still struggled against the man's arms, and eventually, a throw of my weight to the side sent him over. We rolled downhill, and his grip on me was lost. I got up quickly and sprinted uphill to my mom, whose arms were outstretched to me. The monster was still dragging her inside. If she had tripped then, he'd drag her inside by her hair. I was still spilling tears, and I wiped them again. I didn't want my mother to see me cry. I wanted her to know that I was strong. I wanted her to watch me be as strong now as I was while my father beat me to a pulp earlier. The cuts still stung and I was sure I looked like a pure menace as I ran toward her.

"Mihael!" she screamed loudly. Any other time, it would have been ear-piercing. But now, it was a fuzzy, dull sound. And that was all I needed. I stopped in my tracks as the man holding my mom swung the back of his hand, and it connected with her cheek. She was sent flying to the ground, unconscious. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her inside.

The man had gotten up, and, not even in the least bit irritated, he took my hand and led me to the car and I loosened my hand on his, stopped trying to get away from him. I knew it couldn't be helped. I knew that I would never be able to see this place again. It was the end of my family, no matter how dysfunctional.

My father continued to drag my mother to the house, and she didn't try to fight back anymore. She didn't turn back, didn't say goodbye, didn't blow a kiss, or say I'll miss you, say I love you-- but I knew she wanted to. I knew she had to really bad. So I said it for her. "Goodbye, Mihael," I said quietly so the man near me couldn't hear. I let him put me in the backseat of the car. "Goodbye… Forever."

* * *

When I "returned," I found myself back in my apartment, staring up at the textured ceiling. I shifted uncomfortably in bed and flipped over to look at the digital numbers on my clock. The bright blue LED numbers read 7:46 AM. It was still dark in my room, but that was because my shades were drawn shut tightly. I could still hear the pulsing traffic outside my window, though. It never seemed to stop here. The city never fucking slept, I swear. A car drove by blaring loud rap music. I cursed under my breath.

There was rustling next to me, and a soft moan followed.

What the fuck? Did I bring that leather girl home with me? I wouldn't be surprised if I, myself, got beautifully wasted, lost Matt, and brought home a strange girl.

I rolled over cautiously too see who was in my bed next to me, only to find the sheets pulled over their head. I slowly reached over to move the sheets, slowly, slowly…

A tiny bit of red hair poked out from beneath the covers and I completely freaked. I jumped out of my own bed and took a few really fast, staggering steps backward. I was in only my boxers, thanking God that I wasn't naked. But was he…?

I stepped forward only to pull the sheets off of him quickly. He was in his boxers, too. His goggles were still attached to his face, and our clothes were strewn on the floor in random places across the room.

Holy shit.

"The fuck…?" He stirred and rolled over to look at me. "What time is it?" he inquired.

"Seven fifty," I told him, standing a ways away now. He creased his eyebrows at me and rolled back over, getting comfortable again. It took him a moment before he rolled back over and looked at me again. His hands moved to his goggles and he pried them off of his face to reveal stunned eyes wider than the clocks on Big Ben.

"Shit… Mello?"

I nodded slowly.

He was silent for another moment, then he jumped out of the bed and stared at me from the other side. "Shit, shit, shit!" he yelled. "Oh my God, Mello, why was I in your bed?"

"I don't know, that's what I was wondering! I mean, it is _my_ bed and I should know what goes in it, but I have_ no _fucking idea right now!"

"Did--" he stopped for a second, then ran toward my bathroom. I heard him lurch disgustingly into the toilet over and over, then the toilet flushed. I twisted my face in disgust and ran a hand through my hair. It fell back in place easily. He came out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his hair ruffled and in disarray.

"Well, you seemed to find the bathroom quite alright!" I accused. "How did you know where it was at?"

"I dunno, I just… knew, okay?"

I took a deep breath and watched him sit on the edge of the side of the bed he was on. "Matt…" I said as calm as any guy can when he wakes up with a guy with no memory of the night before. "What happened last night?"

"I dunno, I was completely _wasted_ because _someone _kept buying me so many drinks and practically _forced_ seven shots down my throat!" he yelled, pulling his jeans on now. I rolled my eyes at him.

"I didn't _make_ you drink them!" I protest. Like hell I made him get-- oh, yeah. I almost forgot about that.

"Well, it's not like I could have stopped you, you know. Even though I do, in fact, have big hands, like you told me. 'Big hands and a big dick!' you said." Something must have hit him, because he added, "Fucking pervert! What did you do to me!?"

"I didn't do shit! Bloody wanker!" I exclaimed loudly, throwing my hands in the air. I left the room and went to the kitchen, yanking open the fridge door. Damn, I needed a bar of chocolate…

"Duuude--" Matt called from my bedroom, a tinge of sadness and tire in his voice. "Why am I at your house?"

I sighed and grabbed a bar of chocolate from one of the fridge drawers. I daintily peeled the wrapper and foil down from the contents a ways. "I dunno," I yelled back before I took a huge bite out of the chocolate bar. I let it melt on my tongue for a second and felt the worry and anxiety drain out of me. I leaned against the fridge just as Matt came into the kitchen, shirtless, with only his jeans on now.

"Mello--" He stopped at the edge of the kitchen and surveyed the scene in front of him.

"What," I said in partial disgust, "never seen a guy eat chocolate in his underpants before?" Geez. Did he have to stare so much? I took another ferocious bite of the chocolate and peeled back the foil some more. I leaned my head against the cold stainless steel of the fridge and let out a small, inaudible moan. I was enjoying the heavenly feel of chocolate way too much.

Matt chuckled a little bit, catching me off guard. I crossed my arms against my still bare chest and looked at him with a _what was that?_ kind of face. He shook his head and let his hair fall over his goggles (which I still didn't see the point of wearing… Didn't they bother him? I thought that he was just pretending to be some lame video game character when he was a kid, but now…?)

"Same old Mello," he answered my silent interrogation, and continued to my pantry. He opened the door to it and bent over, sifting through its contents.

"Just got here and already going through my food?" I asked. "Same old Matt, I'd say." I crushed the foil and chocolate wrapper in my hand and threw them away in the garbage-- or tried to. The pedal on the bottom that you step on to open the lid was broken, so I had to pry the top open with my hands. I'd have to remember to buy a new trash can later. Maybe I'd get one of those motion-sensor ones. Those were pretty convenient.

Matt pulled out one of those warm-up noodle things and went to fill it with water from my kitchen sink. I didn't even know that I had those…

"Damn, Mello. This place is… well, stylish. I like it a lot," he told me.

"No offense, but no one really cares if you like my place or not."

"Just trying to give you a compliment," he smiled as if I hadn't just said that like the rudest thing in the world.

"Save it."

"Alright." He stuck the Styrofoam cup in the microwave. "But I'm digging the corner bedroom you've got, you know with the huge windows?" He made his hands soar around him, accentuating the words _huge windows._ "It's kind of like a chic little loft. Must be killer to clean those windows, though, I'll tell you that."

"I heard Styrofoam in microwaves gives you cancer." I fired at him.

He rolled his eyes and leaned against the counter. "Where do you get your facts, Disney Channel?" He chuckled and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Besides, I thought that you were smarter than me!" He pulled a hand out of his pocket and pointed an index finger to his temple. "Think, Mells."

_Mells._ There was that nickname that I loved and hated to hear so much. Coming from Matt's lips, it was like a long lost memory that I'd just dug up, the kind that I liked to see, and came softly instead of forcefully. I wanted him to say it again, but he only called me that every so often.

"So what are we doing today, buddy?" he asked me curiously, pulling out the noodle cup thing and opening multiple drawers in my kitchen. Looking for a fork, I guessed. I opened a drawer for him and he grabbed a fork and shoved it in the cup, shoveling a heap of noodles into his mouth.

"What do you mean?" I asked, a chill running up my legs and sides. Note to self; don't want around the house in boxers in the middle of October. Not smart.

"Mmph dmph tdy?" he said through a mouthful of noodles that hung halfway out of his mouth and into the cup.

I sighed. "Talking with your mouth full?"

He slurped up a whole bunch of the noodles and let the rest fall into the cup. I made a purposeful repulsed face but he said nothing. "I mean, aren't we gonna go out and do something? It's been so long, you know, we could catch up and hang out, tell each other our little stories, you know, those kinds of things, and…" He stopped rambling and kicked at the floor nervously with a bare toe. "So, we gonna go somewhere?"

I uncrossed my arms and left my kitchen, edging towards the bathroom. "I don't know what you mean," I said. "_You're _going home."

"_What!?_"


	4. Part 3: Obscure

"_If you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered."_

-**Edgar Allan Poe (famous poet)**

* * *

"This is your new room," said the young lady, a distinct accent that I couldn't place my finger on quite yet. She was the only one that I had considered sane in this whole place thus far, but when she smiled down at me with perfect white teeth, I thought right then and there that she was pure ape-shit insane. How could you smile at a time like this? Was I not an orphan in a sour, sticky, old, musty, ho-hum orphanage? I guessed she wanted me to feel comfortable. I eyed the rosary around her neck curiously. I'd never been clever enough to wear one around my father without him seeing it, or even own one. I would need to ask her for one later, and also for The Bible. I wasn't going to give up on my religion that my mother had devoted me to because of a minor setback like this.

She urged me to go into the small, cramped living space she called a "room." Doesn't the word "room" mean "space?" This place had no space. I wouldn't call it a room. I'd call it a _box. _But it was _my_ box now, and I had to make do with what I got, because it wasn't going to get any better than this any time soon, and this…

There was dust obviously settled and caked on the wooden floors and it made them look a more grayish color. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. I barely tossed my backpack that I'd packed last minute as the old man came, and it landed nicely in a little corner, dust blowing up from its landing. I accidentally breathed in some of it and covered my mouth with my hands. My eyes were watering.

"Do you like it?" she asked me, sounding like she already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear me say it just so that she could have authority and tell me that it was where I had to stay.

"It's…" _Disgusting, stale, fusty… _"cozy." I nodded up at her, giving her the best of my boyish charms. "Very cozy. Thank you." I flashed a smile, tilting my head to the side a bit, ignoring the way my lungs were screaming at me to find a window.

The corners of her lips turned up into a smile as if she didn't believe me. "Alright, honey. Bed is soon, so get ready to sleep. Do you have pajamas?" she asked me.

I didn't know I didn't know what I'd carelessly and hastily shoved in my tiny black backpack for my _trip _last minute. So I just nodded and said, "Yes."

"Okay. Goodnight, my child." She bent over and kissed the top of my head and left my box, closing the door silently behind her. I could hear her footsteps pad lightly down the hallway.

I inspected the room further. There was a smaller-than-twin-sized bed in the corner with a metal frame, and when I poked it, I found it to be a spring mattress that groaned with the simple weight of a poke. Yeesh. Next to it, there was a small nightstand with two drawers. I opened one, and the pieces grinded against each other, making an unpleasant sound. I'd have to fix that myself later. In the top drawer, I found The Bible and a plain black-beaded rosary next to each other and thought, _My prayers have been answered, _ironically. In the second drawer was a small plastic bag filled with travel-sized toiletries; shampoo, body wash, and lotion. I shrugged and tossed them back inside, deciding I'd use them when I needed to shower tomorrow. I _couldn't wait _to see what their showers looked like! Not. Maybe they were all conjoined and all of the children had to shower in one big tiled room with each other. I shuddered at the thought and closed the drawer immediately.

Overall, my newly found box was like a jail cell without a toilet. I'd have to leave to use that, and for some reason, that thought seemed to upset me.

Picking up my backpack from the corner, I shook off the dust and unzipped it, dumping its contents on my bed. There were a couple pairs of jeans, a few t-shirts, undergarments, pajamas, and--

What…

What was this?

All bound in black leather, ribbon dangling… The journal was in my backpack.

I stared at its black cover for what could've been seconds or hours. The moonlight reflected off of its worn leather. The black ribbon's edge was torn and frayed, swiping across my hand slightly. I tugged it a little bit and it almost came loose. Eventually, I decided to not even bother to read any more of it. I didn't want to know anything of my tainted past and what it's done to me, where it's gotten me now… I opened up the top drawer and set it underneath The Bible, attempting to ignore the annoying screeching sound the wood and metal made against one another.

To me, it was still rather early. I didn't usually get into bed until midnight rolled around. I was always up reading the latest novels my mother had hid. So naturally, I wasn't tired at all.

Just curious.

The ceiling hung low, and I could easily pull the string that would turn off the single light bulb that illuminated my box. I did so and kneeled by my door, listening charily for any wandering footsteps in the hallway. There were two pairs of feet padding along with distinct clicks as they continued past my door. Two women walked past, in the middle of a conversation, and I happened to overhear--

"That boy is brilliant," the first woman said with much enthusiasm.

"So I've heard… I wonder what the school will make of him his first day," said the second woman.

"I hope he has studied up on his Religion."

"True, it would be best if he knew a prayer or two, but don't expect him to know as much as we do, Lida." I scoffed. I knew nearly _every _prayer. I knew English (of course) and Spanish, and a little Russian. I was in the middle of learning Japanese, but I thought that it would never come in handy. These women sure didn't know what they were in for.

As soon as I was sure their footsteps had left, I opened the door silently and tiptoed out, closing the door just as soundlessly as I'd opened it. Still in my full day outfit, I wandered the hallways aimlessly, remembering the turns I'd taken so I could find my way back to my box easily.

The floors were wooden, and my shoes made a slight padding sound as I walked down the dark, deserted hallways. There were big windows towards the inside of the structure, showing the big courtyard that this place was centered around. I remembered the lady telling me earlier that it was off-limits and that only the teachers and Father Joseph were allowed to enter there. None of the other children were allowed access until proven educated enough to handle being in there themselves. I approached large, wood-framed doors with stained glass panels and a big brass cross on each. They seemed to be the only nice thing in this whole place. Above them were the words, "_A Holy Place._"

Tempting.

I'd save this place for exploring another time.

Back in my room, I pulled on some pajamas, and tossed my dirty clothes aside near the door only a step or two away. I packed all of my things neatly in my backpack once more and set it next to my nightstand, where it fit snugly between there and the wall. I lied down on the bed, not bothering to go beneath the covers in fear of what awaited me underneath them. It wasn't cold and there wasn't a draft anywhere, but I felt a chill run through my whole body, starting at my feet and progressing to the top of my head.

The window was small, on the side where my bed was, but still large enough for someone small like me to fit through, and still able to open. I made a mental note of that for later. Dim moonlight filtered through its murky glass, and I could barely make out the blurred outline of the moon outside. I sighed, wondering when I'd ever be able to see that moon as clear as I used to be able to see it in my attic-room or from The Lot.

I let my mind drift to the topics I never let myself think about before.

Since I was in the same place as the other orphans now, did it mean that _I _was an orphan, too?

I forced myself to think, _no, no, no, don't lower yourself to their level. You have parents, or at least one of them… She'll see you again._ I'll see you again, mother.

But I knew I wouldn't. I'd never see her again for as long as I lived.

But would I stumble across my old friend Nate? I could only hope. He was my only source of hope now, and I wanted to see him so desperately now. I wanted to find him and hug his small frame until he tried to pry himself away from me. I missed him, and I wondered how he was doing…

I let out a deep breath and started to count the seconds ticking by. I think I drifted to an uneasy kind of sleep somewhere between fifteen thousand and four and fifteen thousand and sixteen.

* * *

The shower water was now hot enough to turn my skin red in a few minutes of exposure. I let it rain over my head and face, not bothering to even breathe for a long time. My hair clung to my cheeks and neck in wet strands. Steam rose up and over the curtain and fogged up the mirrors.

I let out a long breath and shut the water off. I stepped out onto a white towel, grabbed another off the bathroom counter, and dried myself off, wrapping it around my waist. I walked out of the bathroom feeling content and clean from the unknown adventures of the night before, and--

"_She's my cherry pie! Put a smile on your face, ten miles wide!"_

What the hell?

I made sure the towel on my waist was tightly fastened and opened the bathroom door, then my bedroom door. I walked out into the living room to find a rather awkward-looking redhead jumping up and down on my couch and playing air-guitar, goggles hanging around his neck. He was in only his Atari-printed boxers now, and seeing him jump up and down like that was not pleasant… to say the least.

"_Swing it to the drums and swing it to guitar! Swing it to the bass in the back of my car!_" he swung his right arm around wildly while his left pretended to hold out various tunes on his invisible guitar.

Psycho.

I strolled over to the stereo that was no doubt loud enough to blast out my speakers and smashed the power button with my finger so hard that I thought I might have broken the stereo system. The insane person on my couch looked up, his hands falling, and he stepped off of my couch uneasily.

"Whoops, sorry Mells. Out of the shower already?" he said nervously, walking towards me with caution. "Heh heh, thought you'd be a little longer. My bad.."

"Matt, I told you to go home," I said strictly, pouring every ounce of authority I had in my voice. His eyes widened some, and I finally got to see them without his goggles hiding them. They still had the same childish glow that they had when we were at the orphanage. I had to keep myself from smiling at him. I was supposed to be angry.

"Well, seeing as it my clothes are in the laundry, I can't really go anywhere," he explained, scratching the back of his head.

"You're doing _laundry_!?" I exclaimed, nearly dropping my towel. "Shit, Matt! You're a fucking idiot!" I turned on my heel and started back to my room. I let my towel fall and I picked it up from the floor hastily. I didn't care. Matt was my friend-- I'd flash him if I wanted to.

The only thing was he didn't yell in protest, only stared after me.

After I shut my door, I heard him call awkwardly, "Uh, I'm sorry…?"I leaned against the door and let out a long, long breath-- it was probably the thousandth time I'd done that today.

I needed a way to calm myself down. I was going to (literally) pounce on him if I didn't get my head together.

But why?

I didn't like him. At least not like that.

Fuck no. I was straight, and…

I liked girls.

I loved girls!

But if I did, then why did Matt make my heart speed up so damn fast like this? Why could I feel myself blushing? I was smart, I was supposed to know the answers to everything! Then why couldn't I figure out something as simple as this? Sure, I love girls, but did that mean I couldn't like him, too?

I wanted to like him. I just didn't want to admit it to myself.

I blamed it on the shock of having found him again.

But every time I fought it, it would only fight back harder, making me fall farther into this swirling abyss called _lust._ There was the sudden hunger, devouring me and making me want to devour some of him.

Was I falling… for my best friend?


	5. Part 4: Fidelity

**[[I just realized that I've been forgetting these AN's. (not that anyone caaress...) Well, here we are with Part 4. Yaay!...? I think this is my longest one so far. Not sure. We've come to a neutral point, pretty much. Nothing huge happens here, but his flashbacks (yes, that's what they are) are still coming around often, as usual. I've been meaning to put something more to his experience in the Catholic orphanage, but I just couldn't. I had waaay too many ideas and it would be like brain-overflow. Anyway, enjoy ^^]]**

* * *

"_One task is not to fix the blame for the past, but to fix the course for the future."_

**-John F. Kennedy, former U.S. president**

* * *

All kitted out in my leather vest and pants tied tight, rosary in place, and hair dried, I was about ready to face Matt fully. I strode to my bedroom door, where on the other side I heard my drier opening and closing loudly, clothes being pulled out. I put one hand, balled in a fist, against my door and leaned onto it, the other hand pinching the bridge of my nose between two fingers. I was going to need some serious Ibuprofen when this was finished…

A knock on my bedroom door startled the shit out of me, almost knocking me off of my feet. I stumble backwards, letting out a small yelp of surprise.

"Holy shit!" I said, going to open the door. Matt stood there, still in his boxers. "Damn, Matt!"

He looked at me in disbelief and confusion. His goggles were still around his neck loosely, just dangling there uselessly. "What? I knocked, didn't I? It's not like--"

"Yeah, I know," I cut him off. I took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose again, closing my eyes. "What do you want."

"Uhhh, can I use your shower?" he asked, as if he knew the answer would be a no. "I mean, my clothes are here, I can't just leave in my underwear."

I opened my eyes and put my hand down on my hip. I was sure I looked like a pissed off girl right there, but who cares? "Why not?" I asked him.

"It's against the law? Indecent exposure, Mello. Geez, I thought you were the genius here." He shook his head and sighed. "So can I use your shower or what?"

"Whatever, Matt. Do whatever you have to do." I turned around and continued farther into my bedroom, throwing my hands in the air. "Because I _really_ don't give a shit anymore, you know? It's all beyond me now." I fell backwards onto my bed, letting my legs hang off.

"Thanks!" he continued into my room with clothes in his hands and practically skipped into my bathroom like it was a party he was going to. "Daaaaamn! How much was this nice piece!?" he asked loudly from the bathroom. "Must've been a fortune! Why do you get to live so nicely?" He turned the shower on and I heard the shower door open and close, and I thanked God that it was an opaque shower door. I could see his colored silhouette through the glass, and that was it. "Ooooh, damn!" he said again. "Wish I could shower like this everyday!" The water ran while I lied there for several minutes before I got up and wandered to stand next to the shower door.

"Yeah?" he said immediately.

"Matt, there's something I need to tell you," I said calmly, trying not to let him hear the intense shaking that I was feeling.

"Yeah? Well, what is it?"

I took a deep breath and braced myself with one hand against the glass door. "It's about… you," I stated. I sounded immensely serene compared to the way I was feeling. I never thought that it was possible for me to even feel this way, to feel open hostility, intimidation.

"C'mon, Mello! Spit it out!" he said playfully as if we were still children. Maybe that was the way it felt because we hadn't seen each other since then. Since we were children.

"It's…" I composed myself. Why was I feeling like that? I was strong. I was headstrong and strong willed, I could tell him anything. But instead, I said, "I'm just glad you're back." Pussy.

"Really? Well, I'm glad you found me. I missed you a lot!"

I nodded, though I was sure he wasn't looking at me. "Yeah, I missed you, too." I'd started to leave when he continued.

"I mean, it was to shit there, you know? It was so boring without you! I had no one to hang out with anymore. The other kids didn't really like me, and it only took them a few days to get over you. Maybe only a few hours. They were assholes, Mello, they really were. Then I was the second best there and, man, I guess I felt a little bad for you. They started worshipping me, even though other than that, they hated me… next to worshipping Near, of course. It was scary!"

"Matt, shut the fuck up," I spat harshly. "Shut the fuck up right now. I don't care. As long as it has to do with Near… I don't give a flying fuck. So shut up." Hearing that name made my blood boil. It made me feel like thrashing something, breaking something, killing something… Anything to get the thought of him out of my head.

That much of him I remembered.

Pale, silent, perfect…

There was silence on his end for the longest time as I left the bathroom to lie on my bed again. The water turned off and the door opened. "Sorry, Mello. Didn't know-- ah, shit. Do you have towels?"

"Yeah hold on." I went into the bathroom and immediately had to turn around and cover my eyes. "Matt! Ah, Matt, get back in the shower!" I yelled. "I didn't need to see that" But I did. I saw all of it, and I wasn't nearly as disgusted as I thought I would be seeing another man's _dick_.

"What?" He chuckled then stepped back into the shower, closing the door behind him. "Does it bother you that bad? _Heh heh…_ Didn't used to."

I tossed a white towel over the top of the shower. "There-- wait, what!?" _Didn't used to!? _What the fuck did he mean by that?

"Nothing, nothing."

"No seriously, what did you mean?"

"You don't remember?"

"No! I don't! What are you talking about?"

"Ha ha, Mells. You're funny. I was kidding." He let out a nervous laugh and stepped out with the towel wrapped around his waist. Too late for discretion now, I wanted to say to him. Maybe it would've embarrassed him, but now it didn't look like it as much. "I guess you really don't remember…" he said quietly as if to himself as he walked by, running a hand through his red hair stained brown by the water, other hand holding his towel.

What…?

* * *

"C'mon," the black haired boy said to me. He was about my age, and in the same uniform as I was, black slacks and a black polo shirt with white accents that more or less resembled that of a sailor's. It had the crest of the school on the breast pocket, a coat of arms with a cross, a sword, and a bear. It puzzled me as to why a tiny, non prestigious place such as this would have a crest at all (with a bear… of all animals…). Or why we brought clothes when we were required to wear these anyway. He wore a rosary as I did, the only two children here to actually wear theirs, but his was pure white. A strict contrast to my black one. "Come outside." He coaxed me with his hand and looked back to see if the other boys had left him behind yet. There were a few stragglers left behind, waiting for him anxiously.

"Hurry yourselves up!" one of them called angrily. "I do not want to wait forever. All of the good balls will have been taken by this time!" He had a strange way of speaking, I noted. Kind of old fashioned in a way.

The black haired boy rolled his eyes at him without turning around. "C'mon, please? It will be much more fun with you out there." I glanced up at him. He had very light, very pale skin, close to mine, but whiter. Not as if he'd been scared silly, but as if he had almost no life within him. But the life clearly radiated out from within him, and by the way he smiled with a closed mouth at me, with his pink lips, it seemed as if he were some kind of angel. He had the looks of an angel but the eyes of the Grim Reaper. One could lose themselves in the black eyes of his.

I turned my attention back to my Bible.

"Will it?" I asked him.

I paid no attention to him, but only attention to my Bible. It was the beginning of December now-- about seven months since I'd been tucked away in this little place-- and the cold air that seeped into the orphanage had now begun to nip at my fingertips and it made it difficult to turn even these thin pages.

"Yes," he stated simply, as if he wanted to just get this over with and go outside.

"You're not lying?" I asked, more paranoid than in disbelief. I wanted to be sure that no one here would lie to me.

"No, I'm not lying to you. Now come outside, so I can show you how much fun it is when you're not all locked up in this bedroom reading the hours away!"

With a sigh, I set down the Bible, open to the page that I was on, on my nightstand, and stood up to meet him. Though I was only six now and I had barely finished my Kindergarten class back at home, I knew how to read exceptionally and I had the capability to interpret words at a high school level. I admit, I was one smart cookie. He smiled at me and offered his arm, as if he wanted me to take it.

I picked up my coat before I went outside with him, but he stopped me. "It's not cold outside. Trust me."

I narrowed my eyes at him. Was he bullshitting me or what?

Nevertheless, I put my coat back down on the foot of my bed and left with him.

"My name's Domeni," he said simply, a ghost of a German accent lingering in his words. It was pronounced, Doe-MEH-nee. I stared at his arm curiously. "Oh, right," he said. "You hold your arm out like this," he extended his arm fully, hand in a fist at the end as I mimicked his actions, "and wrap it around the other's," he wrapped his arm with mine as if we were to skip merrily down the hallway, "and your fists go together, like a silent pact. Do you see?" He smiled at me again, his dark eyes seeming to light up at the sight of a newcomer. "It's our little handshake-type thing…" He leaned in close to me after releasing my arm. "Don't tell anyone else, it's only a few of us boys."

I nodded at him and said, "My name's Mihael, by the way."

"I know your name," he said to me with his same smile. "It sounds Russian, too."

"I am Russian," I told him, shocked at his level of education next to mine. "My mother is."

"I'm German," he stated. "_My_ mother is. And my father." He shrugged nervously. "Can you tell?"

"Your name, but no… Your hair is black. And your eyes. I don't want to be stereotypical, but aren't German boys mostly blonde with blue eyes?"

He chuckled. "Not necessarily, but I've heard that, too. Weird, isn't it? Maybe we should switch bodies." He giggled, but not in a girly way. I laughed with him, and continued outside with them, squinting my green eyes at the bright sunlight.

"What do you want to play?" Domeni asked me curiously, already having adjusted to the unnatural sunlight at this time of day. It was nearing dinnertime, and it should've been darker. "Kickball? Baseball? Soccer?"

"Kickball," I told him. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed that the sun was already setting. I needed to get outside more and get used to it.

"Alright," he said, his smile dropping as he led me to the red-sanded kickball fields. "Kickball it is."

As we neared the kickball field, I saw that the other boys had already started their game.

"Already started," said one of the boys, walking to us from the pitcher's plate. He looked to be about eight or nine years old, and had a bowl cut and scrapes on his knees. Instead of wearing the uniformed pants, he wore the uniformed shorts. They looked ridiculous on anyone, and his wide and chunky frame definitely wasn't an exception. "Go find someplace else to play." He held the ball against his hip.

"Alright, c'mon, Miha--" Domeni said. I brushed his hand off of my shoulder and started walking forward to meet the bowl cut boy halfway.

"No, hold on," I said, walking closer the other boy. Getting closer to him, I found him to be at least a foot taller than me.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Didn't you hear me, boy? I said that the game's already started. Get lost!"

"No," I said evenly. Domeni came up close behind me and put his hand on my shoulder.

"Mihael, let's go--"

"Excuse me?" He towered over me like a giant, casting a shadow over my whole body.

"I said, _no_." My hands were balled into fists at my sides, nails nearly digging into my palms.

"You looking for a beating?" he asked me rhetorically. "Because you're about to get one."

"Actually…" I pushed the red ball out of his hand and it bounced to the ground and rolled a few feet behind him. "Yeah. I am."

His expression turned quickly from anger to rage as he surged forward to push me to the ground. My ass hit the ground squarely and he kicked at my side. The other boys at the kickball field had crowded around him by now, and they were chanting his name. "_Stephan! Stephan!_"

I was soon pulled out from under him by a teacher, and they hoisted my up from under my arms. I was finally level with him. I took my chance that I'd been waiting for-- and kicked him square in the chest with brute force. His breath was knocked out of him with my kick and he was knocked backwards. He fell to the ground violently and his friends crowded around him as the teacher pulled me inside. I could hear Domeni following closely behind as the teacher set me down and led me to Father's office, but I didn't turn around to see him. He was now loyal, as I would be loyal to him, and we both knew it.

I trusted him.

* * *

I crumpled up a piece of small white paper in my hand and stood up from a plastic bench to go toss it in a garbage can. My leather make a squeaky sound against the plastic and a little girl in the booth next to us giggled. I tried so hard not to yell at her. I hated children. Truly, truly despised them.

"Whoa, Mello. Don't do that. We need the receipt to get our order," Matt said, leaning back against the nonexistent cushion of the seat. They were uncomfortable, all made of hard plastic. Was it too much to ask for cushions in this place?

Apparently.

With a half-snarl, I sat down and the seat made another squeak with my leather. This time it was Matt who was laughing. I glared at him, but he only laughed harder.

What were friends for, again? Please remind me.

"They just called our number," Matt said. "Want me to pick it up?"

"Sure," I said boringly, and rested my chin on my hands, elbows on the table. Matt returned moments later with a big red tray, our food sitting on top of it. He plopped it down on the table and plopped into his seat himself and grabbed three of the four burgers on the tray.

"Damn, dig in," he said, then proceeded to shove half a burger in his mouth. I stared at him, wondering how he could fit so much food in his mouth at once. It was a weird thing to wonder about, I know, but I asked him automatically.

"How do you eat so much food at once?" I asked him, staring at his mouth and the burger.

He chewed a few times then swallowed, taking a gulp of the big cup he had that I hadn't noticed until now. "Practice?"

"What do you mean, _practice?_" I narrowed my eyes at him and leaned forward.

"Awh, you know!" He forced another huge piece of a burger into his mouth.

"No I don't," I said. What the hell was he talking about? Why did he keep bringing up all of these random topics that I knew nothing about? He was insane, that's for sure. Surely the Matt that I hardly remember.

"Mells…" He looked around and leaned towards me more. "You know…" He held up his hand as if to tell a secret. He then whispered, "I just have a big mouth." He pulled away and laughed, then took another bite, finishing his first burger.

I didn't think it was funny. He was definitely yanking my chain here! It wasn't fair. I had nothing to tease him on because I didn't really remember much of anything other than the fact that he was my best friend and what he looked like. That was it. How did I make fun of him like this?

"You're an idiot," I said, and picked up my burger. I stared at its contents for a moment and saw that it was just a burger with cheese and ketchup. I was plain. Matt's had almost everything on it, except for pickles and mustard. Somehow, I remembered that he hated those. I took a bite of my burger.

"That's all you got on me?" He chuckled and polished off his second burger.

"Pretty much." I soon finished my food as Matt started on his third burger. Damn, he was like a food vacuum, sucking up everything in his sight. It was just… odd.

"Damnit…" Matt's hands were balled into fists now on the table, pounding lightly in rhythm. "Damnit, damnit… Ah, shit."

"Uhhh, Matt? Why the sudden change of mood?" I asked. Was he PMSing? Or was there some sort of weird bipolar disorder that I should know about?

"I need… _shit…" _He patted his pants pockets all around and looked heated.

"You need shit, Matt? Okay... Fucking weirdo…" I stood up with all the trash on the tray and started towards the trash can. "Fucking guy wants shit… Alright then," I mumbled to myself quietly. I felt more than a little crazy. Once again, my leather made a funny noise and the little girl giggled once more.

"Mommy, that man just farted!" she yelled loudly, causing the whole fast food place's occupancy to turn towards me. They all eyed me with either disgust or amusement, or both. The little girl's mother scolded her and turned to me to apologize.

"I'm very sorry, she's only four years--" she stopped abruptly and stared at me. "Are you the guy from the club?"

"The who now?" I said lamely, not knowing what she was saying. The trash can was close so I threw the tray on it.

"You were wearing some leather like you are now and some sunglasses," she said.

"Yeah…"

"I was waiting to get in!" she exclaimed. "How do you get in just like that?""Mommy what's a club?"

I turned quickly on my heel to see that Matt was gone, nowhere to be found. I turned in every direction, ignoring the annoying wails of the lady and her more than bothersome child. I walked out toward my car that I'd come here in, apparently, and saw that Matt wasn't there either. What the fuck?

I peered down both sides of the street and finally caught him walking briskly down the sidewalk, gloved hands in his pockets. He wasn't too far away, not far enough to drive. So I shoved my keys in my jacket pocket and ran towards him.

"Matt!" I called. "Matt, where are you going?" He didn't answer me, so I caught up to him and said, "Matt, what the fuck do you think you're doing running off like that?" I felt like a parent reprimanding their kid, and it was irritating to say the least. "Matt, answer me."

He kept walking in the direction of the convenience store on the corner. I followed him inside there and watched him mechanically walk up to the cashier and say, "Ten packs. I don't care what brand, just be quick about it."

"What…?" I said.

The cashier guy handed him a big ten pack of cigarettes and Matt handed him a huge wad of singles. "Thanks. Keep the change." He ripped open one of the boxes almost furiously and pulled out a cigarette, stepping just outside the store. He didn't even wait until the door closed until he pulled out a lighter from his pocket, lit the tip of the cigarette with the other tip in his mouth, and inhaled deeply. The angry look on his face melted away and he seemed to relax some as the cigarette slowly shrank.

"The _fuck_, Matt!?" I yelled a little too loudly. He jumped and took a step back. "What the fucking hell do you think you're doing with that shit!?" I eyed the burning stick in his mouth with utter disgust and tried so hard not to rip it out of his mouth and burn him with it. In the forehead.

"Uhm, _smoking_? Geez, where have you been?" He took another long drag on it and let the smoke out in swirls of white and grey. I couldn't believe my eyes. How could he do something like this? Innocent Matt, little puppy-eyed Matt, how could he smoke? He was never really the type… Was he?

"Since when?"

"Since forever, Mello." He finished the cigarette and dropped it on the sidewalk, stamping it out. He pulled out another one and lit it, repeating the process. How could he look so… so graceful while doing something so vile and wrong? It was just wrong…

"I don't remember you smoking," I said truthfully.

"It seems like you don't remember much of anything anymore, Mello," he said with something a little more than irritation. He rolled his eyes and finished the second cigarette in no time and stamped that one out, too. He grabbed the packs and started walking back towards the fast food place where my car was parked.

"That's sick," I said. "Sick, gross, and just… ew."

"Just ew?" Matt laughed, some color returned to his cheeks. "Alright, how old are we?"

"Shut the hell up," I said. "God, you know you can get cancer for that shit?"

"Yeah, I know."

"So why do you do it?"

He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Because I like to. Why do you eat chocolate so much?"

"Because I like to," I spat. "Don't get on me for my chocolate habit. It's normal."

"Then don't get on me for my smoking habit. It's normal."

"Not nearly as normal as my habit," I fought back.

"Oh, contraire." I eyed him curiously at the sound of him using the word "contraire." "Remind me of that when you weigh five hundred pounds and I'm still skinny because of these."

"Remind me of that when you have one lung and it's still as black and charred as the other was."

"Alright, Mello. Whatever you say. Can we just go back now?"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, chain smoker."

"Alright, fatty."

* * *

Back at the apartment, Matt sank onto my couch and let out a long breath. "I think I ate too much."

"And you were calling _me_ fat?" I laughed and sat next to him, grabbing a remote off of the glass table. I flipped on the TV and we started watching COPS.

"Yeah."

"Whatever… Hey, wait. Didn't I tell you to go home?"

"…No."

"What! Yes I did!" I stood up and looked at him. "Matt, go home!""What! No! I don't want to!" He sounded like a stubborn little kid and sank farther into the cushions as if they would swallow him whole and he wouldn't have to leave. Well, hate to break it to anyone, but life doesn't work that way! And if inanimate objects _could_ swallow us, wouldn't you be a bit scared? Especially of kitchen appliances?

Right.

"Matt," I said sternly. "I'm giving you to the count of five--"

"Oh, c'mon, don't be like that--"

"For you to get up and leave--"

"Mello, I'm not a little kid!"

"Or I will personally kick your scrawny ass out of here myself!"

"Noooo~!"

"One," I said, holding up a finger. He sank farther into the cushions. By this time he was completely silent and wanted nothing other than to stay there.

"Two. C'mon, Matt, I don't want to have to do this to you." But I did. _I_ wanted nothing _more_ than to kick his ass myself. It was part of the sadomasochistic side of me that rarely ever saw the light of day, and it was choosing to show itself _now_ of all times? Three… Four…"

He rolled over to lie on his stomach and clung onto the armrest.

"_Five_!" I grabbed his legs and started pulling as hard as I could, but he wouldn't let go. He even groaned loudly trying not to let go. I pulled on his legs harder and harder until I lost my grip and slipped back, falling onto the other side of the couch. "Damnit, Matt!" He rolled back over and sat with his feet up on the couch, hugging them against his chest.

"I'm not leaving."

"Yes you are!" I walked up to him and swung my hand across and it connected hard with his cheek. His head thrashed to the side and he tumbled off of the couch. I kicked his legs, and he scooted back and stood up. He looked around to find somewhere else to cower, and decided on my kitchen. He stood by the counters and I just followed him in there, angrier than before. "Don't run away from me!" I sounded more like an angry husband than a pissed off teenager.

"No! I'm not leaving you!"

"I don't care!" I punched him hard in the shoulder and he made a sound of pain. I was raging now, and he wasn't going to be able to stop me because he wasn't fighting back.

"You're still the same, Mello. Just a little meaner--" I cut off his words with a punch on the side of his head. He fell over onto the tile and curled up in a ball.

"Matt… God damn, Matt. What are you doing?"

It took him a moment to answer. "I-I should be asking… you that… Mello…" He held his head now, and I saw a trail of blood dripping down the side. He held his glove to it.

"Shit…" I bent over and extended a hand to him, and he took it without hesitation. He must've known, or trusted, that I wasn't going to hit him again. "I'm… I'm sorry, Matt. I didn't mean--"

"It's okay, Mells…" He stumbled off towards my bathroom and I followed him there. I had him sit on the counter while I went in the cupboards and pulled out a little first-aid kit. We didn't need much for what turned out to be a hefty gash.

I got a cotton ball wet with Hydrogen Peroxide and dabbed it against the gash. He recoiled and yelled, "_OWW_!"

"Relax! It'll only hurt more if you don't!" When he seemed less tense, I dabbed it again and he made that stingy noise. I cleaned off all of the blood that had dripped down his head and put one of those butterfly Band-Aids on it. He seemed to not mind me taking care of him. But like he actually wanted it, me babying him like this…

"My glove has blood on it," he stated emotionlessly, holding it up.

"Want me to throw it in the wash?"

"Yes." He took off his gloves and handed them to me. I grabbed any open space without blood on it and walked to the laundry room, dropping them into the empty washing machine and got that all started up. I went back to Matt, who was still sitting on the counter, his hand poking at the gash. He winced each time he poked it.

"Idiot. Stop touching it."

"But it hurts."

"Doesn't it hurt more when you poke it?" I asked straightforwardly, crossing my arms across my chest.

"…Yes."

"Then stop poking it!"

"Okay, fine!" He dropped his hand to his side. An awkward silence hung in the air between us, and I wondered what was going through his mind at the moment.

Why didn't he want to leave? I mean, had I not just (more or less) beat the shit out of him? I wasn't much of a host here, and I don't even know how he ended up in my house and in my bed in the first place. I was mean to him. I didn't know shit about him and what kind of friendship we used to have, the things we used to do.

So what did he want with me?

"I need to tell you something," he said solemnly, looking down at the tiled floor. Since he was on the counter, it made him a head taller than me, and I had to look up a little bit just to talk to him.

"What is it?" I was more than inquisitive. I wanted to know why he wanted to stay here so bad.

He stared at the tile for a moment, picking his words carefully. "Well, you're going to laugh, but…"

"I won't laugh," I told him. "Just tell me what it is you want to say."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He took a deep breath and looked down at his feet, a serious look on his face. "I kinda got evicted from my house. And I'm broke. So, I need a place to stay," he mumbled.

I stared at him for a few seconds, the broke into fits of laughter. I couldn't help it!"Hey!" he shouted at me, looking up, and play socked my arm. "You said you wouldn't laugh! You promised!""That's because I didn't know! Ah ha ha!" I leaned forward and clutched my sides to keep from doubling over completely. "Oww, it hurts! It hurts it's so funny!"

"Mello!"

I wiped a tear from my eye. He was making me laugh so hard that I cried!

"_Mello!_"

"Okay, okay, I'm done. I promise."

"You promised me last time…" he mumbled. "Well, what do you say?"

"So you got kicked out--"

"Evicted," he interrupted.

"Same thing. So you got evicted, and you need somewhere to live now?"

"Pretty much…"

"Man, oh, man. Matt, you should know by now what my answer is."

"What?"

"I so don't need a roommate!"

"But Mello!""You're lucky you're my best friend, though. Anyone else, pshh, no."

His eyes lit up like the Fourth of July. He perked up and his eyes widened as he looked at me, with my arms crossed, eyes downcast, and hair in my eyes. "Really? You mean it!" He practically bounced with excitement. "Oh, thank you! Thank you _so_ much, Mello, really! Oh, it'll be just like old times, we can stay up late like we used to, go out to places late like we used to sneak out, all that good stuff!"

"I still have to work, wing nut," I added.

"Yeah, I know. And I'll have to find another job that pays better, too. Need to match your income, right? Pay half? That'll be hard on this place… But at least we're together again, right?"

…Matt and I together again. Who would've thought it?

"Yeah."

"Thanks, Mells."

"You're--" but my words were cut off by his lips pressing hard against my own as he kissed me long and hard to no end.

* * *

**[[They're together for the long-run, now. And yes, I left you on a cliff-hanger. MWAHAHAHA~ Reviews are greatly appreciated! And thank you SO MUCH to anyone and everyone that has added this to their alerts/favorites/etc. It means a lot to me!]]**


	6. Part 5: Senseless

**[[Back with part 5, and all you little fan girls (or boys, for that matter), please close any doors around you or make sure you are not in a public place while reading this. By that, I think you know what's coming, so…]]**

* * *

"_There may be a great fire in out soul, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers-by only see a wisp of smoke."_

**-Vincent Van Gogh (Famous artist known mainly for his painting, **_**Starry Night**_**)**

* * *

"_Nghh, ow…_" Matt mewled softly under my touch. "Mel-- ouch!_ Fuck!_"

"Isn't that what I'm about to do here?" I practically barked at him, forcing myself extremely closer to him. _Closer, oh so closer… _I smashed my lips against his, let my tongue explore every part of his mouth, almost shoving it down his throat in a fight for dominance that he didn't partake in. I wanted to dominate him, to completely control him.

"Ow, no, you shit head! You're digging your fingers into my cut!" I pulled my hand out of where it was tangled in his hair and moved it to his hip, sliding it under his shirt.

"Sorry," I breathed between kisses.

I was on top of him now, on the bathroom counter. He was still sitting down, and I was on him, knees next to his hips. I pulled his shirt up and over his head. I moved my hands to his chest and clawed downward, and as he moaned against my lips, I smirked widely. He liked it-- he liked being tortured. He _wanted_ it.

Good, I wanted him to want it. Because I needed this. I needed to hurt him, and it was even better if he wanted it, so much easier to deal with, so much easier to execute. The sounds of ecstasy mixed with that of agony were so beautiful to me.

"Mello, _mmm, _Mello, can we, _mmhhm_, move to the bed?"

I bit his lip as I pulled away, not hard enough to leave a mark, though.

"Yeah." I got off of him and hoisted him up by his shoulders, yanking him by his wrist over to my bedroom. I pushed him violently onto my black comforter, and he landed just so that I could get back on top of him easily.

I kissed his neck and bit on the flesh there slightly, and he mewled softly, as if wanting more but not wanting to admit it. But that tiny sound was enough for me. I full on bit his neck and he groaned loudly. I moved down his chest and to his stomach, trailing short, wet kisses downward. His breathing was already ragged and I hadn't done much of anything.

His hands moved fervently to the zipper of my vest and undid it with shaking hands. Was he scared? Or was he excited? I shrugged it off and tossed it somewhere on my bedroom floor. His hands were flat against my chest, and they traveled downwards to my pants. They fumbled with the laces in place of zippers there, and I smacked his hand away and unzipped his jeans instead. He kicked them off and they fell off the bed.

My vision started to go darker and darker, blurring at the edges, Matt's moans and groans growing more and more distant as the seconds ticked by.

_No, no, no, not now. Any time but now, any time…_

"Matt," I heard my voice say, but I knew that I wasn't the one saying it. I was on autopilot. My brain was acting on its own… "Matt, I'm going to fuck your brains out."

"_Do it…_"

_No, please, not right now. Later, please, not right now. Let me stay through this just once, just this once…_

"_Mello, please… Fuck me, Mello! Fuck me!"_

_No, don't let me go now, don't make me watch this now. Just this once…_

But no one was listening to me anymore.

* * *

Only seven months.

Only seven months since I'd been there at that Catholic orphanage and I was being kicked out. I wasn't really proud of myself, but I guess it was my fault.

But he started it.

I had finished packing my things so long ago, since I had only a few items of clothing, and I changed into _my_ clothes. It felt comfortable to be back in jeans and a t-shirt as compared to being in a starched uniform for once.

I lied back on my groaning mattress for the last time ever, this would be my last day in this box. Ever.

I didn't know whether to be pleased or remorseful in this kind of situation. I knew I'd miss this little familiar box, but the place I was going to would be bigger and nicer, right?

I could only hope.

I think the thing that I'd miss the most here, though, would be Domeni.

He was always so nice to me, though I'd only officially met him today. He always let me borrow his crayons when I managed to forget or lose mine, he'd sit next to me in lonely classes, and he even gave me some of his supper when I'd drop mine, or when I missed dinner while reading in my bedroom. He'd sneak me some leftovers, a roll, something of the sort, and never ask for anything in return. I'd taken a liking to my new friend, and I had to leave.

Figures.

I'd asked Father if I could take the Bible and the rosary along with me, and he'd answered that they were mine from the moment I claimed them, and that he would not take them from me, for he had no right.

I took delight in that and packed the Bible away in my backpack, and wore the rosary plain around my neck. I tucked it into my black shirt.

There was a light knock on my door, knocking me out of my reverie.

"Come in," I said, but to no avail, because they had began to open the door before I had even begun to say, "come in."

"Child," said the woman who I remembered to be the only adult to be nice to me here. The other teachers were either afraid of me or hated me for my constant "attitude," as they so called it. They claimed to not hate me to keep up their orderly teacher, non-judgmental adult and religious appearance, but I knew they all did. We all knew they hated me more than anyone. "It is time for you to leave."

I sighed and leapt off of my bed.

Before leaving, I turned around and had a last look of the box. It looked the exact same as it had when I'd came here, but it had a few memories. Late nights of staying up and reading the bible, studying, learning things I didn't need to know from books at their limited library.

I guess that it was a bittersweet feeling leaving this place.

I shut the door behind me, following the nice lady through the hallways. Her name was Angelia, and she was from Chile, South America. She'd told me one day when I'd asked curiously about her accent.

She smiled down at me, and offered her hand. I took it without hesitation and continued down the halls with her until we were outside of the front doors and to the curb. A black car waited there, windows tinted too dark to see through. An old man with glasses and a mustache waited by the car, hands behind his back. He looked to be very old, and Japanese, maybe. He wore a classic suit. The image was almost too familiar to be real.

"Hello," he greeted with an accent, "Mihael."

"Hello," I greeted back carefully.

I turned to Angelia and gave her a hug around the waist, considering I was so short.

"Goodbye, Mihael. Have a safe trip, and be happy at your new home," she said to me. "I wish you nothing but the best. And, don't tell the other children, but… you were always my favorite. How biased of me, right?"

I smiled against her black dress and hugged her tighter. "I want you to think about me, Angelia."

"I will, child. I will." She let me go and there were tears in her eyes.

I never thought that saying goodbye to someone that you hadn't known that long would be so hard.

The old man opened the back door for me.

I was halfway in, when someone with an accent yelled, "Mihael! Wait!"

A dark-haired boy came tumbling up to the car and stopped by the open door. I jumped out.

"Domeni!"

He grabbed me in his arms and gave me a child's embrace, and it seemed as if he were about to cry, but he held back.

"I'll miss you," he said quickly.

"I'll miss you, too, Domeni."

"I don't want you to leave. We've only just met." He flashed a smile to me and then his eyes widened. "Oh! Almost forgot." He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a piece of paper wrapped around an object. "Happy almost birthday. Don't open it until later."

"Okay."

"Promise."

"I promise."

He smiled again and ran away. I had no time to ask questions, or even to wonder how he knew when my birthday was, because the old man asked me to scoot farther in so he could close the door.

As he drove away, I turned away and waved to Angelia, who was wiping her eyes with a white cloth. I waved to her until she was out of sight.

"My name is Quillsh," the old man said. "Quillsh Wammy. And I hope that you will take a liking to your new home." He smiled behind his mustache in the rearview mirror to me.

I attempted to smile back, but I was crying.

I was sobbing.

Uncontrollable, choking, sobbing.

He offered a handkerchief to me and I took it, wiping my eyes and blowing my nose.

It was horrible, but… Why didn't I feel sad? I cried for hours upon hours until we arrived at an airport in God knows where.

I then remembered Domeni's note, and pulled it out quickly as we walked to our air terminal. A white rosary fell out of the folded paper, and I had to catch it in my fingers as we walked. Puzzled, I read the note.

In neat handwriting, read,

_Mihael,_

_You already know that I will miss you loads._

_But listen to this._

_You're not mainly leaving because of the incident. I found files, when I followed you to the office. Your grades are so exceptional that they are sending you to a prestigious school for the smartest children in the world. Your incident was just their excuse to send you earlier, they wanted you to get used to it earlier._

_Believe it._

_And guess what? You'll never get this! I'm right behind you. They were going to send us at the same time, but I have to wait. I don't know when till, but soon, I hope._

_Until then, don't forget about me. I won't forget about you._

_-Domeni._

I clutched the rosary tighter in my hand and slipped it over my head. I was wearing two rosaries now, and I wondered if that was against anything. My black one was under my shirt, the white one atop my shirt.

And I boarded the plane with hope.

* * *

When I awoke, it was pitch black.

It was hot.

I shoved some of the sheets off of myself only to find that it was _FREEZING _outside of the blankets. I hurriedly yanked the covers back over me and shivered. I peered over to the alarm clock on my nightstand-- 4:03 A.M. The hell…?

How long had I been asleep? Or rather, how long had I been _up_? And doing _what_?

God, this was going to bug the shit out of me. I had to know…

I looked beside me to see Matt sleeping peacefully, covers at his waist.

I was too curious for my own good…

I carefully peeled the covers back, inch by inch, to see if Matt was wearing any boxers… Slowly, charily… I stopped abruptly and threw the blankets back up to his chin when I saw that he wasn't wearing any type of underwear at all. I saw it-- his whole damn cock-- and almost gaped at it.

It was _big._

I felt myself-- I wasn't either.

That means that I--

And we--

…

Well, fuck me running. I had sex with Matt.

He groaned next to me and muttered something in his sleep.

"_Mello…_" At least he thought of me in his sleep, right? "_My ass…_" …Wait, what? "Mello, you up?" he said tiredly.

I contemplated on whether to answer or not. Eventually, I said, "Yeah."

"My ass hurts," he moaned. "It hurts… really bad."

"Sit on a bag of frozen peas," my genius mind threw out there.

"Do you have any?"

"…No."

"Then… what do I do?" He moaned in pain again and rolled over, then let out a yelp in pain. "Oww… It hurts… You're so…"

I waited for an end for what seemed like the longest time ever. It was dead silent besides the sound of our breathing.

"Big," he breathed.

I twitched and rolled out of my bed, ignoring the cold. I didn't bother to put anything on, either, because he'd seen me-- _all of me_-- already, right? So I was walking around my bed stark naked, and I left the room to go to the kitchen. I rummaged through my freezer and found a bag of pizza rolls and went back to the bedroom with those.

I handed them to Matt. "Sit on those."

"Thanks…" He tenderly sat on the bag and winced. He was sitting up now, facing me. "Shit, aah…" There went a bag of good pizza rolls. I didn't care if they were inside. I wouldn't eat those. "Ow, my lip… You made it bleed… And my back. You clawed me… Damn cat."

I chose not to respond to that one.

"How long was that… six hours? Seven? Damn, I didn't even think that that was even possible…"

Or that one.

"Mello…"

I turned to face him. "Hmm?"

"You're really good."

"Yeah, thanks, Matt." Because that was _exactly_ what I wanted to hear right now.

By the way, for all of you clueless bastards, I was being sarcastic.


	7. Part 6: Snowstorm

**[[ I really apologize for how long it's been taking me to post these. I never get to it because I either forget or I'm too lazy. Sorry! Too many video games, too much chocolate. Not even kidding. Anyway, hope you're liking it so far! :D ]]**

* * *

"_The __**TRUE GENIUS **__shudders at incompleteness - and usually prefers __**SILENCE**__ to saying something which is not everything it should be__."_

**Edgar Allan Poe; famous poet.**

* * *

"He's your friend."

"My friend?" I wrinkle my nose in disgust, not caring if the other boy next to me saw me do it or not. I wanted him to know that I didn't like him or approve of him at all. He was bizarre. And though the man was being all friendly, I sure as hell wasn't going to give it back.

The office we were in was vast, empty, and deserted, devoid of any curious eyes. I was glad for that; all the kids here bugged me to no extent. What I wasn't glad for was that this old guy, Roger, was trying to convince me that this kid was once my friend before I got to this God-forsaken nut house of children. Of course, I was a child, too. But only in a physical sense. Everyone here was so immature. And they were supposed to be smart…?

The paisley carpets bothered my eyes. I had to blink several times to even begin to adjust to their too-busy pattern. The thick, velvet shades were drawn nearly shut, letting in little to no light at all. It was dark and gloomy. It was like a dungeon. The most light came from a small green desk lamp that stained Roger's face a sickly green, making his ancient face look more miserable than it already did. I was prepared to tell him that, too.

"Yes, Mello. He's your friend. Remember?" he told me.

I crossed my arms tightly across my chest. There they went with that name _Mello_ again… "He's shit to me. I don't care about him. I don't want friends."

"Now, Mello," said Roger, adjusting his glasses. "Watch that mouth of yours, hear me?"

"I'm not _fucking_ deaf, old man," I retorted, proceeding to stick my tongue out at the boy.

He was just so… odd.

Unbelievably pale, wearing nothing but those white pajamas and white socks, a finger twirling around a lock of that _silver_ hair like he was nervous. Was silver even a normal hair color? Well, not if you're old. But this… kid. He was less then a year younger than I. He was really skinny, but not awkward about it. Other than his horrible posture… Couldn't he stand up straight? I was sure he couldn't have scoliosis, because they made you wear those back brace things, right? And what was with those eyes? They were so empty. It was like he was completely incapable of displaying emotion. Did he _not_ feel emotion…?

Damn, he filled me with so many questions. Most of which I had no idea how to even begin how to answer… It pissed me off. Just thinking about it now made my blood boil. I didn't like not knowing things, and this boy… He made me so confused!

His gaze was fixed on the floor in front of him, as if he refused to make eye contact with me. I wasn't ugly, so what was his problem? Shy? I was actually afraid of what would happen if I made eye contact with him, like he was some kind of Medusa.

I would've never made friends with a boy like that.

"You… you don't remember him?" asked Roger curiously. He brought a hand to his chin and started to rub it thoughtfully. "I wonder… Do you--"

"No one cares, okay?!" I exclaimed loudly. "And I sure as hell don't care about this fucking kid, I don't want anything to do with him! Stop trying to make me have friends that I don't want!" My hands were clenched in fists by now, my nails digging into my palms roughly. I knew this place was a huge step up from the old Catholic place, and I sure as _hell_ didn't want to go back there (even if they let me), but this was just flat-out stupid. "And no," I added almost silently, "I don't remember him… Whatever that's supposed to mean." With that said, I turned around and started walking back to my new bedroom (that was--thankfully--bigger than a box).

"Wait," came a soft voice. It was quiet, but filled with a gentle authority.

I stopped.

There was a long pause, and no one said a thing.

"Thanks."

"You're crazy."

I continued out of the shadowy chamber-like office and into the hallway with but one simple question rolling through my mind: Just who exactly _was_ that and why was I supposed to _remember_ him? You can't remember someone you've never met. I didn't know what the hell they were talking about. Nonsense, I know, but still…

I didn't know, and I didn't care.

I hated him.

* * *

I stepped into my shower and shut the door behind me with nothing but remorse.

I wished that I'd been able to see what happened… But there was no use crying over it now.

I mean, my first time, having sex with a guy-- with a guy!-- and I missed it!? C'mon… I let out a pissed groan against the water splashing on my face and dipped my head forward to let it rain over my whole head.

But _was_ it the first time we'd done something? I thought back to yesterday morning when Matt had said something around the lines of "You didn't used to," about me freaking out about seeing his cock. What had he meant? I wanted to know so bad. I _needed_ to know if I was going to keep doing these kinds of things with him.

I tried to remember it; anything, anything from the night before. The last thing that I remembered, unfortunately, was me telling him that I was going to fuck his brains out and him begging me to. Did he really want it that bad…? I had started to question everything that I thought that I knew now. Was it _really_ that good? Did _I_ like it?

I wanted to distract myself from it, since trying to remember was only pissing me off and stressing me out. But what I began to think of only pissed me off more than this.

Near.

Couldn't even stay out of my thoughts, stay out of my dreams, flashbacks, whatever you want to call them. I had been friends with him once. I had practically raised him, since his mother was a complete druggie and couldn't raise him properly. And then I remembered that his father couldn't raise him either… and that wasn't because he wasn't able to. It was because he was murdered. And he had to watch. Of course, I had to find that out on my own from the cops when they came in my house to tell my mother and "father." No one told the child anything like that. It was always, "Your friend's parents are on a long vacation," or, "They're moving far, far away." That was all the cops told me, and I had to sneak my way around and hear what they said. And I was never shocked at all.

That always makes me feel the tiniest bit of sympathy toward him, but I always swallowed it right away. It was engulfed completely by my level of hatred toward him. Sure, he'd lived in a nice house when he was young, but it didn't mean his life was perfect.

I hated having been friends with him. I wouldn't exactly call it friends, but still… I guess he was my only friend as a kid, you know. For that I had to thank him, but for all I gave him, he had to thank me.

And he did. I just didn't know it at the time.

Something interrupted my thoughts then. Someone opened the shower door and stepped in. Someone? Who else? It was Matt. He was completely naked (as everyone usually is when they shower) and stood right next to me in the huge space in the water.

"Hey," he said.

I found myself nearly cowering as close to the wall as I could get. It didn't really matter, I'd already seen him-- violated him, penetrated him, ravaged him-- but it was still so new to me. I didn't remember shit! So it was like starting all over again.

I looked him up and down. His hair was now a dark brown under the running water and strands stuck to his forehead and the back of his neck. Water ran down his bare body and I followed the drops with my eyes, downward, downward, until I saw his dick. The darkness of the bedroom earlier hadn't deceived me. He was, in fact, packing some serious stimulus down there. I felt my eyes widen and I snapped my head up. "Um… Hey," I said, still managing to sound a bit laid back, but of course Matt, my best friend, realized the difference right away. He furrowed his brow and looked over to me.

"What's wrong?" he asked. I tried to avoid looking at him, but I couldn't help it. I turned my head and looked at his face, but, _of course_, I couldn't hold that gaze for long. My eyes traveled to his neck, and I saw the apparent hickies and bite marks there, along with the matching ones on his stomach and hips. There were even some next to the area between his legs. It was unnerving to think that I bit him all over, and hard, too. They were already a reddish-purple color. "Do you… do you regret it already?" He looked down and let the water shower over his head.

"No," I said truthfully. How could I regret something like that? And something that I couldn't remember, too? "I don't regret it."

"Oh, okay," he said, not sounding convinced. "Mello," he added, "I really…"

"Really what? Spit it out," I demanded.

He picked up the bottle of shampoo off of a shelf and poured some in his hand and started to wash his hair. "I really like you."

I waited until he had finished rinsing the bubbles out of his hair until I replied, "I really like you too."

"Yeah, but… I'm sorry for wanting to do that last night, you know." He sighed. "I mean, we only met up the day before. We're basically… I don't even know. Strangers?" He picked up the body wash and started lathering himself up. "It's pretty obvious that you've changed, I know I've changed, so we should get to know each other again, right?"

"Yeah, but about last night, it was basically me, right?" I said. "I mean, I fucked you up." I eyed the bite marks again.

He let out a laugh--a genuine laugh, one that's not forced or choked to get out-- and started rinsing off. "No way! I fucked _you_."

"What!?" I shouted in total disbelief. It was the only single word that I could get out at the moment, and nothing else seem to fit quite right. Cursing him out wouldn't be very smart, I thought, considering he was my only chance for my whole situation here.

"I completely _dominate_."

"Then why does your ass hurt!?" I questioned, shocked as hell.

"Because, Mells, ah ha ha… We _both_ took it, Mells." He laughed again and added, "Just because you take it doesn't make you the little innocent one, you know. You took it, too. Damn."

I must've been gawking, because all of the comebacks and retorts that I had built up felt like they were just pouring out of me by the second.

"But…" I blinked a few times. "_My_ ass doesn't hurt."

"Yeah, wonder why, huh? I mean, it's not like I'm _tiny_ or anything... And you would know."

"And the bite marks?" I asked.

"Heh. Just another fetish…" Matt finished and left the shower, grabbing a towel and whistling. "Oh, and Mello? Do you think you can drive me somewhere later? To pick up my car? It has all my shit in it."

"S-sure…"

I stood under the water for minutes on end, just… thinking. And… what the fuck?

Matt was the dominant one!?

* * *

**[[BET YOU DIDN'T SEE THAT COMING. UHH. Neither did I. I thought of it last minute and it seemed like something I'd really want to see in there. It adds a nice mix of things and totally changes the attitudes, huh? xD Well, reviews, favorites, etc= LOVE. Ahem, not love, since… I can't really… love a stranger… -cough- LOOK A FLYING KIRA! -runs-]]**


	8. Part 7: Inferno

[[ -insert lame AN here . . . - NOM NOM NOM. ]]

_"The __**GREATEST LESSON **__in life is to know that __**EVEN FOOLS ARE RIGHT SOMETIMES**__." _

**Winston Churchill **

No sooner than I arrived would I become known as the snappiest child in the orphanage. I had quite a mouth on me, and no one dared to argue against me. I gave everyone, including teachers and superiors, my clever quips and remarks, and I could see them getting tired of it. Yet they were slowly sinking into it, getting used me. I was quickly earning a place here, but I was never sure if that was really where I wanted to be.

To hell with it, I told myself. Where else were you going, anyway? I never had a clear idea of what I wanted to be, of what I _actually_ wanted to do with my life. What _was _there to do with it? I was just an orphaned little boy with no particular talents. No one would pick me for a job. I wouldn't pick me. But then again, the same would apply to everyone else in this orphanage. All they were was a bunch of smarty-farty kids with big brains and fake little names to show. That was pretty much all I had, too… And I wanted more. I selfishly wanted more than what these kids had, and I was determined to get what I wanted by any means possible.

I would be the smartest kid here, bar none.

It would be soon that I would discover who the real boss here was-- and I had taught him everything he knew.

That damn Albino whose name and face I would never have forgotten in a million years.

Near. Because he always seemed to be somewhere near me, in class, at lunch, in the hallways-- shit, even his ROOM was just the two rooms away from my own! I had begun to think that it was some kind of setup, but maybe it was all just a coincidence. His face was burned, etched into my brain forever. That pale, alabaster skin, smoother than any kind of silk; silver locks of near-curly hair where he twisted the ends randomly; clad in white pajama clothes and socks, never seeming to wear shoes or normal clothes; and those eyes-- _those eyes_! They were clearly amazing (I hated, hated, HATED to admit), and they sometimes seemed to look glazed over as if he were a zombie that was being controlled. But that last part was just a little story that someone had told me in a class, that Near was really a zombified kid being controlled by the school itself to surpass everyone else. I knew it was rubbish, and I told the kid to his face. They had thought I was defending him, and it was far from it. I had to clutch the edge of my desk so hard, I almost splintered the fake wood, to keep from swinging at him.

I saw the emotion hidden in those eyes. I never knew what from, where those strong emotions and feelings were produced somewhere foreign inside of him, but I never really cared to find out. When he looked at the schoolwork, it was the glazed look. But when he looked at some of the others, it looked like… longing? And when he looked at me, the expression intensified, about fifteen times the regular amount. No one could ever tell. Yet somehow I just knew. I knew that he desperately longed for something and would give anything to scrape some of it up in his little hands. I knew.

And I would be the one to find out what he needed and give it to him.

Near.

Number one.

Mihae-- _Mello._

Number two.

And it always would be that way.

But I never knew _that_.

Fucking A.

Another dream about Near. Another sick, sick dream, even before all of the sick, sick things happened and I had those sick, _sick_ fantasies about--

Fucking B.

Matt is already ready, leaving me in my bedroom. He won't stop egging me about "Can we go get my car," this, "Can we please just leave yet," that.

Fucking C.

What?

Fucking D.

I'm really sick of this routine now. I want Matt to either get to his work (which I've completely forgotten of until very, very recently, and I haven't even told him yet) or leave. Leave forever, never to see me again. I hoped.

It was for his own good.

And maybe my own.

"It should be right around this corner," Matt says excitedly, as if he's picking a prize from behind a curtain on a game show. I easily flip the corner, but to Matt it's a crazy ride, and he grips the edge of the dashboard ahead of him. I nearly grin thinking that he was getting a little paranoid being in a car with me.

"It's red, nice and sleekish, and should be--" He shuts up completely when we pass a whole bunch of cars and not a single one of them is red. "Uhm, maybe it's more up here…" I drive further, and he never says a word.

Until he bursts out like a fire engine on steroids.

"WHERE THE HELL IS MY DAMN CAR!" he shouts the rhetorical question at no one in particular. He's trying to open the car door, but it's locked and he can't reach the only unlock button on my side of the car. "Lemme out! Lemme out!" He attempts to fight against me but fails.

"No can do," I say, somehow just _knowing _that this (or something of the sort) was going to happen. A car can't just _sit there_ for a few days. It was towed.

He tries rolling down his window. Is he trying to do some James Bond move on me by rolling out the window or what! I lock the windows and roll his back up, his fingers getting caught in the top. He let out a yelp and yanks them out of the way as it fully closes. He smushes his gloved hands up against the window and I ignore him as he almost sobs. "My _baby,_ he cries. "Oh, my _baby_, my _car,_ I'm _sooo soorrryyyy_!" He wipes his eyes with one of his sleeves and I look shocked at him, wondering why he was crying over a car… "_I'mmsoorryyyIiiileettyouuugeeettstoolleennn!_"

Oh, that's why.

"Matt," I interrupt, but to no avail.

"Stuhp it!" he says dazedly. "My _baby_ was just _picked up_ by a bunch of _thugs_, _okkkayy_?"

"Matt, it wasn't--"

"_OHHGOOODDD!"_

"_MATT--"_

"_MYYYY CAAMAARROOOO!"_

"_MATT SHUT THE FUCK UP!"_

He fell silent in the passenger seat and looked over to me.

"It wasn't stolen. It was towed. Chill the fuck out, and we'll go get it."

He sniffed a few times and looked ahead of us on the road as I made an illegal U-turn and got onto the freeway again. We sit there like that in a small hush for awhile. Only Matt's sniffles intruded the air between us.

Finally, he says, "Thanks, Mel." _Snifffff!_ "I luhvyou."

My hands tighten on the steering wheel.

The creepy Hispanic man at the car lot is wearing one of those jumpsuit things they're required to wear (I didn't doubt that he wouldn't wear it if he didn't want to, though), the sleeves ripped off and frayed, and an ironed-on nametag that read JULIO. As in, HOO-LEO, or JEW-LEO? I actually met a guy who pronounced it JEW-leo once, so I wasn't sure… He looks like he's the kind of guy to rip your balls off if you say it wrong. So I stick to the safe way.

"Hey," I say casually. Julio looks up from his little post, but doesn't stop doing what he's doing-- wiping something with a rag-- just to have a casual conversation with some stranger.

"What do you need?" he says with a slight accent, getting right to business. No use wasting time on chit-chat, right?

I smile and took my sunglasses off. "Red Camaro."

He grins and shakes his head like this is some kind of joke. Does he get fooled around with like this often and is used to it? "What?"

Behind me, I can hear Matt start to shuffle his feet around the gravel.

"We need to pick up a Red Camaro." I pull out my wallet and flip through the high bills. "How much are we talking?"

Now Julio looks seriously confused with me. He shakes his head faster than he did last time. "What Camaro?"

I sigh. "A bright red fucking car, right Matt?"

"Right," he says, his voice shaking. Was he scared that he wasn't going to get his car or something? He starts to pace around nervously, dragging his boots along the gravel, making annoying noises.

I turn back to Julio, but he says to me clearly, "There's no red Camaro here."

I stop and close my wallet. "Ex_cuse_ me?"

He sets down the rag and whatever he was wiping with it. "I don't have any Camaro here."

What the fuck? This was the pound that they would have taken his car to, I was 100% sure of it. "Did you _ever_?" I ask impatiently. If this pound didn't have his car, who would, anyway?

He nods. "Yesterday."

"Oh nooo, oh _noooo_, I can't listen to this!" Matt wails, and walks away in a chorus of "noooo's" and "awwhh's."

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" I shout, knowing that my anger is getting the best of me. But if Matt didn't get his car, it would set off a chain reaction. No car = Matt freaking out. Matt freaking out (leads to) sad Matt. Sad Matt = no work getting done. No work getting done = no progress. No progress = I lose. I lose = I FUCKING LOSE!

Julio puts on his tough face. "Do you have a problem… _sir?_" he says sternly.

"Not with you, but I do have a problem… _sir," _I reply with more attitude than intended, causing Julio to step around his little place and closer to me.

"What is your problem, _sir?_"

"My problem, _SIR_, is that THE CAR. WAS STOLEN. FROM YOUR LOT."

"Well, _SIR!_ That is not my problem, _SIR!_"

I'm beginning to think that I know this type of scene somewhere. And I know where it's going to end up.

Damn CAPULET!

I pull out my gun from the holster at my waist and press it to his torso in one swift movement. "_Sir,_ I believe it _is_ your problem." I jab it harder. "Because, seeing as it that you run this place, it's your responsibility to make sure the vehicle gets to its proper owner. You can be associated with the assholes and be charged with affiliation, assist in theft… _Sir._" I have a dirty smirk stained on my face.

"Mello! Stop it!" Matt yells somewhere from behind. "It's… It's just a car! I'll get another one… Just stop."

I ignore him and look Julio in the eye. "Who did you give that car to?"

"I gave it to," he starts, his voice not wavering a bit, "a guy named," his hand moves in the slightest way, but don't notice. He rips out a gun as well from behind him and shoots, but doesn't hit me. So I start laughing at him, backing up.

"Seriously, Jewleo! Ahahaha! That was a really cheap move, and you didn't even hit me!" I'm howling with laughter, until I hear something collapse behind me into the dirt, and I turn around quickly to see just what it was. Matt is writhing in the gravel, hands clutched at his left side as tight as limp hands would allow. I can see a deep maroon already seeping through his vest, and all the breath is nearly knocked out of me.

I turn and fire three shots at Jewleo, and they all hit three critical places-- one in his chest, one in his neck, and one in his dick, for shits and giggles. _I_ think it's funny. Wouldn't you, if a strange Hispanic-impound worker guy just shot your best friend?

Hell, it's hysterical. I almost forget to laugh a little bit when I run towards Matt, now completely still.

"Matt!" I yell, though I'm only a foot away now. "Matt, get up!" I kneel next to him and lace one arm under his right side that's on the ground and lift him up. He doesn't grunt or anything, and I'm frightened beyond belief. "C'mon, Matt, I'm taking you to the hospital…" The blood has stained the whole left side of his shirt now, and is slowly inking its way to the right side. I hoist him into the backseat of the car and lie him down on the seat. His eyes are completely shut and he's not moaning in pain, groaning in protest, or arguing with me. That's what scares me the most… is that he can't even make a sound. At all. I can tell he's trying, because every now and again, his chest heaves and sputters, but no sounds come out. I turn around every five seconds while driving recklessly through the streets but nothing changes. Matt is silent, nearly still, and barely breathing. I have to hurry, but I'm already flooring it. And I don't think there's anything faster than flooring it.

Shit!

"Matt!" I yelled. "Stay with me!" His chest gives a few heaves in response. "Stay with me, Matt! Please!" My eyes feel hot and the road in front of me tips and curves. I wipe my eyes with the backs of my gloved hands, but leather doesn't help. I open my eyes wide to keep them from spilling over. I was crying…? "Stay with me, Matt, stay with me!" And that's all I can say. "Please, Stay with me. Don't go… Please, Matt, please! You fucking idiot, how did you get shot!" My fist pounds on the steering wheel and I curse loudly as the car in front of me decides to pull a fucking break-check on me and pound mercilessly on their brakes. I completely rear-end them and both the cars go up in total smoke. My airbag deploys on my face and I feel my nose break. Their car is (somehow) on fire, but I'm oblivious to it. Despite the blow to the face I'd just gotten from the damn airbag, I pound the air out of it and open my car door, falling out the side onto the pavement of the freeway. Many cars drive right past us, honking, people cursing, flipping the bird. I ignore them and stumble my way to the back door two feet away, yanking it open weakly. I fall onto the seat, my hands barely steadying me. "Matt!" One hand shakes him and smoke begins to fill the car. "Matt, wake up! Get up! We have to get to the hospital…" I slip and fall near him, slipping onto the floor. "Get up, you--" I cough vehemently-- "_idiot_…" I go into a violent coughing fit, my lungs quickly filling up with the nasty smoke, completely engulfing my car. "Matt, get _up_, get _outta here…_ Please, please _Matt…_" I breathe out a puff of smoke and collapse in the car as everything goes completely black. The smoke swallows the two of us whole, making every bad feeling about a hundred times worse, and the person I'd hit dies in their inferno.

**[[Okay, first thing's first: if any of you have noticed, I keep accidentally changing my tenses. I'm sorry! I try to keep consistent but it happens by accident.. SECOND, the "WTH sir, sir, sir," scene is kind of like Romeo and Juliet, for those of you who don't know. In the very first scene. Look it up, it's wonderful. Thanks for reading, hope you're still with me, or now onboard!]]**


	9. Part 8: Invincible

**[[ Thanks to everyone following, favoriting, adding, reviewing, stalking, and all around loving this fanfic! I checked my traffic, and THANK YOU TO THE PEOPLE OUTSIDE OF THE UNITED STATES THAT HAVE CHOSEN TO READ THIS! You really don't know how much that means to me!3 Enjoy! ]]**

_"Never to __**SUFFER**__ would never to have been __**BLESSED**_._" _

**Edgar Allen Poe (famous poet)**

I couldn't open my left eye, and when I tried, everything was black anyway, I could barely twitch a muscle. My breathing was somewhat labored and there was an oxygen mask over my mouth. With every breath I took, there was a sharp pain stabbing my lungs. I could feel sweat and blood crusted in my hair and all over my skin. It smelled strongly of antiseptic around me, and the cushion beneath me was barely what I'd call a cushion at all, if not a rock. I could only hope that I was in one of the hospitals that I'd always arranged with Rod, and not a normal one, where I'd actually have to offer ID and insurance and shit.

But who the fuck cared where I was? All I cared about right then was the machine next to me flat lining.

I thought I was dying.

I immediately sprang out of the bed I'd been laid in-- or, tried to. I rolled over the side nearest the beeping and attempted to stand on my hospital socks-clad feet, but slipped, even with the rubber lining on the bottom of them. My head bounced off the bed's mattress and I slammed onto the ground, face first, and during the fall, I'd felt something rip out of my left arm-- an IV, probably. The oxygen mask came tumbling down, still on my face, and I ripped it off angrily. If it had been any other time, I might have laughed and gotten back up. But when both of your legs feel broken, along with pretty much _every_ limb in your damn body, that's really the last thing you want to do. The only thing I felt like doing was curling up into fetal position and huddling my body against itself. I stretched my arm out in front of me and grasped a shiny silver pole, and tugged on it. An IV came crashing down right next to me, spilling a clear liquid on the tile that barely missed my hospital "gown." I looked over more and spotted another pole, and grasped that one, watching it tumble, too, as a big screen came down and smashed on the liquid, nearly electrocuting the puddle and me along with it. I felt triumphant, but not like I was dying. Not at all.

And I could still hear the relentless sound of the machine flat lining.

I uncomfortably craned my neck upwards to see what was causing the unearthly noise, sure that my neck wasn't supposed to be bending that way. The human pretzels of the circus would be proud. I saw another machine identical to the one I'd just smashed, and knew that it was the one going dead.

Suddenly, there were doctors, surgeons, and nurses alike rushing in the room with haste to the bed that the machine sat next to. They were all bustling with a professional urgency and one had turned to a table to pick up the defibrillator.

Some poor soul was going to be lost. How tragic.

Like I cared.

I rolled over so I was on my back, barely watching as they ignored the man writhing in pain on the ground and the big electrocuted puddle of broken-expensive-_stuff_ next to him.

They pounded on the man mercilessly, counting and watching in practiced horror as the machine continued to flat line. They'd been through this numerous times, and they knew how to handle it. They could handle the death of an innocent stranger; that was what working at a hospital typically meant with these people. It wasn't unusual to see deaths in hospitals-- especially in LA.

They'd worked on this before. And so had I.

"We're losing him!" a woman shouted. As if they couldn't hear her well enough. As if the person hadn't already been lost.

"Not yet," said a man, sounding very official. "Once more, and then we've lost him." He rubbed the two paddles together, then smacked them once more on the stranger's chest.

I saw a head bounce up from the blast.

It had red hair.

There was a short silence from the doctors, and then a man spoke up. "Call it," he said to no one in particular.A woman responded with a solemn tone to match her grim expression. "Official T.O.D.: 8:09 PM."

All of a sudden, it was as if I'd been granted superhuman powers. Even in my current state, where I wouldn't have been able to move at all, I stood up and pushed a doctor out of the way, yanking the paddles out of his hands. Adrenaline rushed through me like crazy, and I was _not_ going to move for anyone. Not until the damn machine beeped like normal and my friend was alive.

Not until I had Matt back. _My_ Matt. No hospital, no officials, no machine, and no gun wounds were going to take him away from me.

"Hey, you can't do that!" the doctor yelled from the floor where I'd shoved him to.

I shot him the worst glare in the world. If looks could kill, he'd be the one on this bed, not Matt.

"Watch me," I said through clenched teeth. I turned to the defibrillator's main source and punched the highest voltage there was. If it was too high to use on a person, why was it on the machine, right? I rubbed the paddles together. "C'mon, Matt," I said, growing impatient. The machine had to charge up the unimaginably high amount of voltage and it wasn't going quite fast enough. "C'mon…" Finally, the wretched little box let out a high pitched beep and I took no time before mercilessly pounding on the lifeless body ahead of me.

For what seemed like hours, there was no response. It was as if the whole room had gone silent, beeping and all. I stared at Matt's dead eyes, covered by purple eyelids. I would never see those clear emeralds again. No emotion, no love, no lust, no sadness. I remembered them from when I was a child. If only for a split second, I _remembered._ Yet they would witness no more of this world. Certainly no more video games that he loved so much. I would never see the way his eyes squinted when he smiled and laughed, never to hear that bubbling sound again, never hear his voice, never argue, fight, or _love _what I'd never been able to even experience. Because he was dead. And even I couldn't bring him back from the dead.

_No…_

My knees buckled beneath me and I fell to the cold tile, my hands steadying me. Barely.

"I told you, son, there's no saving him." A doctor laid a hand on my shoulder. I knew he was trying to be sympathetic, but _sympathy_ was a word in the dictionary between _shit_ and _syphilis._

I let out a few huffs of breath, about ready to pass out. "I know…" I said grimly, hair creating a curtain in front of my face. I let a few seconds pass before adding, "But I really don't give a shit what you damn officials have to say about it." Before the doctor could register his shock, I reached up and grabbed him by the wrist, yanking him down. He fell with a loud thud and "Oof!" I stood up abruptly and kicked him in his stomach. Another doctor came towards me and tried to take me down, but I landed a blow right in his chest with my fist. He staggered backwards.

Did these doctors think they were ninjas or something?

A woman ran into the hallway to call for help or something, while being out of line of danger. But I only attacked those who I thought were threats. And woman weren't on that list. Not to be sexist.

Unless that woman was coming after me with a huge metal tray.

I swiped the tray from her effortlessly and smacked her in the face with it, watching her fall back and bump into another woman, who I threw the tray at like a Frisbee.

"It's him!" the woman who had ran, shouted, pointing at me. Two big, burly men entered the room with something that looked like tranquilizers. _You have got to be kidding me. _It was like some psych ward diaries story type. If I weren't so out of shape, I might have thrown my head back and laughed at the textured ceiling.

They came at me with brute force. I got down and tripped the first one, and he fell onto the second one, needle shooting into him. He gave the man a puzzled look, and was out like a light. The man I'd knocked down tried to stand up, while taking the other man's tranq.

And the beeping stopped.

Then continued.

Then stopped again.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

I swiveled on the tile to look at Matt, now breathing, and now awake. He winced and moved his arm to rub his chest, where a huge bandage sat. He tried to smile when he saw me. I had to look like hell then.

"Mells," he said, blood in his teeth. _Dumbass is going to give away my name,_ was all I started thinking of.

I tried on a smile, but when I felt a small prick in my right arm, I felt it fade. My eyes widened as I turned to see a needle sticking out of my arm, almost all of the liquid dripping out of it into my bloodstream. I ripped it out with my left hand and watched the rest of the fluid drip onto the floor. The man who had shot it into me dusted off his hands as if I were a nasty creature he'd had to touch. I staggered a few feet back, then to the side, trying to steady myself. The world was tipping beneath me, and there were about seven of Matt shifting around me.

"Mells?" they said. "Mells!"

I looked back to the man again. "_Fuck_ you," I managed to say almost clearly, before I felt my eyes roll back into my head and smacking it against the tile harder than you'd think a featherweight like me would.

"'Sup, Roger?" I said casually as I walked into the dungeon office.

"Good, you've decided to show up today.." the old man mused, sitting at his desk. His glasses were perched on the end of his nose, as usual. He had his fingers interlaced, and looked extremely tired. "Come, I need to speak with the two of you."

Two?

Shit.

I spotted the albino ghost on the floor, one knee up against his chest, and the other leg pulled under his tiny body. If he were any whiter, he'd be transparent, I swore. If it weren't so cliché, I'd call him Casper. Taking that into recognition, I think you can see how damn _white_ the kid was. The clothes he wore seemed to especially swallow him today. I wondered how long it would take for him to grow out of those and into big-boy clothes.

"I understand your birthday is fast approaching, Mello, and I figured I should wish you a happy one beforehand, as you may as well be very busy when it does come." Roger stated blandly. He was never one for a sincere wish of happiness…

"Busy?" I asked. "Why would I be busy?" I was never really busy with much of anything rather than studying. I hated playing outside with the other kids on a normal basis, as most of them never really liked the idea of me playing with them as well (except for the fact that I was pro at every sport I played), and I had my schoolwork done as fast as ever (if not as fast as Near…). What else would I possibly be busy with?

"What I mean to say is, the both of you should have your hands full in the next few weeks, more than ever." He cleared his throat. "We have received two new students today, and I expect the two of you to introduce them and help them out as much as possible."

The orphanage hadn't taken in anyone since me, much less _two kids at a time._ This was a rather odd happening at Wammy's, and I was actually surprised. But I wasn't surprised that this man was asking me to befriend yet another person, even two this time.

I wasn't pissed this time, though. Maybe they'd be normal.

And maybe my brain was as big as developed as a squirrel on acid's. _No one _at Wammy's was exactly _normal_. Take a look at Near, for example.

"Sounds good," said Near, twirling a lock of hair around his index finger, the other hand hugging his knee oh so closer to his chest. Case proven.

"Who are they?" I asked curiously. I couldn't befriend a person when I didn't know who they were. Common sense, Roger. Use it.

"Actually, they're here right now. Boys?"

The doors to his office opened behind me, and I turned around. Near stood and faced the door, too, as they swung open quickly, one smacking the wall.

_Cue dramatic entrance… Cut, try that again, idiot._

"Oops," one of the boys said nervously. "My bad, sorry." he scratched the back of his head in embarrassment, and chuckled. Pink slightly tinted his cheeks as he looked at me. He probably thought I was a girl. It was common, what with my long hair, but couldn't he tell with my _face_, or perhaps my _body_? I didn't exactly have the girliest curves ever, much less _boobs_. Although…

The other boy smiled genuinely at me, paying absolutely no attention to Near. "Hello," he said with a slight accent. I immediately marked him as German.

Roger had stood silently from his desk and continued in the middle of all of us. "Mello, Near, these two are Matt," he gestured to the redhead boy who had smacked the door into the wall, "and Daniel." He gestured to the black-haired boy with black eyes. They reminded me of those of Near's, only with more depth and understanding embedded within them. If you stared deep enough, I swear you'd see the edges of the iris swirl with the pupil-- not that they didn't already blend in with one another. It was a little creepy, I admit, to see someone who looked to have a giant pupil. But it was cool, I thought. "Matt, Daniel, these are the two I was telling you about. Near," he gestured to the white-haired _freak_ next to me, "and Mello."

"Hi," I said with a smile, a _real_ smile. These two looked normal-- well, Daniel did. He was clad in a crisp black t-shirt and blue jeans, with a shiny black rosary around his neck, much like my own. He was pale-- paler than I was-- but a soft, natural mix between me and the creepy albino.

Matt, on the other hand, was still as pale, but had on a black and white striped long sleeve shirt, somewhat tight jeans, black boots, and… weird orange goggles. I mean, over his eyes.

Fucking weirdo. He'd fit in nicely with Near's bunch, meaning Near and _pretty much _only Near. At least now Casper would have some company, aside from staring at me all the time.

"I expect the four of you to get along nicely, and all be at the top of the school." He said this all with absolutely no emotion, as if we were robots to be auctioned off to the world of communism and totalitarianism. This was bull.

I couldn't help but notice that Daniel was staring at me the whole time, seeming as if he were trying to convey a message that I didn't quite understand. His black abyss eyes bored into my skull, and I flinched every time I looked up to find him watching. It was extremely unnerving, but I kept checking, kept finding out that he hadn't torn his eyes away from me since he entered the room. What was he trying to do here…?

"Roger, may I please leave? I need to catch up on my studies for the day," I asked politely.

He was taken aback-- I was never one to be this polite. Finally, he nodded slightly. "Of course you may, Mello."

"See ya." I wedged between Matt and Daniel on my way out. I felt Daniel's eyes follow me as I brushed against him, and spotted Matt's cheeks redden slightly as I brushed against him. Whatever was up with those two, I didn't want to know and hardly wanted to be involved with. But somehow it was obvious that Matt was a little shy and Daniel was some kind of freak. I continued down the hallway, turning down a few corners and finally ending up in front of my room. Daniel had caught up with me quickly.

"Mello, wait up!" He ran up to me in front of my bedroom door.

"Yes?" I asked impatiently.

He smiled with perfect white teeth, and his eyes seemed to bore into mine. "Hey, Mihael. Long time no see."

**[[ YAY! I was sooo waiting for this moment. I KNOW that there is no Daniel in the real Death Note, but BITCH THIS IS A FANCITION :D If anyone doesn't like the fact that I've brought in a new character (kinda, he was in part one or two, I believe) than let me know. He really will be a big part in this, though, especially his childhood. But please. Bear with me. I love you all, read on(: ]]**


	10. Part 9: Limelight

**[[ Sorry for how long it's taking me to upload, I'm TRYING my best to upload more and more each time to make up for dormant times… Anywho, welcome to PART 9! -dramatic music plays- . . . Currently: Mello and Matt are in a hospital. Matt died, (I know, I know) but Mello brought him back with the defibrillator! Yay! Beers all around! Mello was knocked out with a tranq. Always fun.****]]**

_"Whatever you do will be __**INSIGNIFICANT**__, but it is very __**IMPORTANT**__ that you do it." _

**Mahatma Gandhi**

Have you ever been hit by a car? Caught in a fire? Fallen off of a thirty-story building? Add those together, multiply them by ten or twenty, and you're about halfway to where I was feeling at that moment in time.

Okay, so _maybe_ I was still a little numb from the stupid tranquilizer that they shot into me. But hey, I knew the pain would hit me like a freight train anytime soon. It had to, unless what they shot into me was some kind of nerve-fucker-upper (did they have names for those?). In that case, I was basically fucked in the ass with a long metal pipe. That's always fun.

When I woke up this time, I was actually falling over onto the floor while sitting up, unable to catch myself. My head hit the floor but I barely felt a feather-like tap. There was no annoying beep or metal drone, telling me that they didn't care if I were dead or alive, as long as I didn't try beating the shit out of any more of their doctors. Well, my bad. Can't I just get one of those little insignificant cards that say "I'm sorry," sign it, and get out of this place?

_Man, talk about boring._ This place was Dull with a capital D.

The room I was in was all white-- and I mean all white. There was no bed, yet underneath me was cushioned. The walls and ceilings weren't textured anymore, but seemed to mimic the surface beneath me. There was one mirrored window ahead of where I sat, reflecting the room around me. I could only wish for another mirror on the other side of the room to reflect the other, if only for a few minutes of entertainment. I could create a little funhouse in here.

I knew on the other side had to be more "officials" telling other "officials" how I acted, how they expect me to act, what happened to me, and where I'm going to be headed, mentally. Personally, I thought they were all mental. No one quite seemed to understand that fact that when a friend dies, the other friend is going to go to any lengths to make sure they come _back. _Even if it meant throwing trays, beating down men, and tranquilizing other people. Hell, I'd do anything for Matt.

He came back, though, right?

I brought him back, and that was all that mattered.

I stood up, surprised that I wasn't in a straitjacket. For a moment, I was disappointed. They didn't think of me as dangerous by now? That was a shame. But as I walked around the room, I realized how hard it actually was to walk on the uneven padded surface. My bare feet sank with every step taken and as I staggered a few times, I found it increasingly easier to get used to. I actually started to kind of leap with every step. At least it was easy. I walked like a moon-man, bounding and jumping, sometimes even feeling like I floated for the smallest time before landing again. I probably looked insane to anyone on the outside looking in, lost in my own little world of space-foam and leap-frog. I nearly smiled at the thought.

What would Matt think of me bounding around in a padded room, laughing? Ha ha ha.

I went up to the mirrored window and inspected myself thoroughly, half-hoping that all the while, I was looking someone straight in the eyes. I looked like hell. My hair was ragged and had ash tangled up inside it. Grease stained a part of my face, and all around my eyes was a slight purple, reminding me of a certain favorite that I longed to see just once more. I rubbed my eyes with the backs of my hands, watching them turn a little darker with every rub. I kept swiping them and even backhanding them until they were dark enough to meet any "requirements." It was actually a quite satisfying turnout.

Damn, how I missed those eyes.

I tried to hide any expression I had at the moment, showing no pain, no longing, no humor, or curiosity. For a split second, I resembled the smartest man who had ever lived.

And I nearly cried at the thought.

With a huff, I let myself fall back carelessly onto the padding, not even stopping for a second to think about whether it would be soft enough to support my fall or not. Bouncing up a tad and back onto the floor, I realized that it hadn't really mattered. As I laid on the top of the cool, white padding, the scent of some kind of detergent waft up. It smelled closely to the one I used at home, but one could tell that it was heavy duty, used for loads bigger than any regular household's. My arms and legs were splayed out, and I felt some hair slicked to my forehead. If they hadn't even bothered to clean me up, they obviously weren't planning on keeping me for very long.

I stared up at the ceiling, feeling a bit like Alice. The whole room was exactly the same, and for all I knew, I could have been on a wall or the ceiling. There was no hint of an outline of a door, and I wondered if it were located next to the window or somewhere else inconspicuous.

The pain started to slowly ease in, creeping up my toes like ice and engulfing my calves in flames. It was a nasty feeling, but in the meantime, I was trying to ignore it.

I just then realized that I wasn't in my hospital gown anymore, but in a white shirt-white pants ensemble, crisp and bright clean, almost blending with the room. If I had been as white as Casper, hell, maybe I'd go all chameleon on these people. They'd never find me!

Then, for the first time since I'd awaken in the funhouse of doom, I thought of Matt. Where was he? Was he okay? Was he back in the hospital bed again? Was he in a padded cell like me? How was he feeling? Was he mad? In pain? _Alive_?

I scoffed. If he died, I'd be pissed. I mean, c'mon. Look at it this way: I went through all the trouble of kicking ass and beating doctors and _bringing his sorry ass back to life_ for him only to die? How stupid and pointless would that be? I wound up in a little psych ward because of him. Who would've thought? Certainly not me. I didn't think it would end up like this.

I blamed Jew-lio.

Sleep seemed to be avoiding me at the moment, and I was grateful. All I wanted to do was stare up at the ceiling and rest my hands behind my head, as if I were watching clouds roll by. Except these clouds were dormant. And very soft. I wondered for a moment why they would put padding on the ceiling, knowing (or rather hoping) that people couldn't possibly get up there. Or, at least… not easily. I cringed at the thought of some psycho finding a way to get up there.

I rubbed my eyes again and yawned, knowing that I was in no way tired. Still, I wondered just how long I had been knocked out with that stupid tranquilizer. Too much sleep is typically bad for a person, so I figured that if I'd been sleeping too long, that I'd fall back asleep mere moments from now. Shit. I rolled over onto my stomach and rested my chin atop my hands, fingers interlaced. I kicked my legs much like they did in those girly music videos about pool-parties and bikinis, tipping my head to each side to an nonexistent beat, humming a tune that I didn't know. It was a cross somewhere between _Lady in Red_ and _Poison _with a fast-paced beat, like something turned into a techno remix. I was really into it now, tapping beats with my hands and saying a random word now and again.

"_Uhn tiss uhn tiss uhn tiss, duna duna naaaah, stuck in this roooooom~ I don't know, duna duna naaaah, don't know what to doooo~._" I could feel the pain still steadily working its way throughout my body, but I continued to ignore it and keep on with my psycho-tunes.

I finally rested my cheek against the cool fabric and stopped my movements, instead still humming. I let my hands trail lightly over the surface, then let them sit still. I already knew that what was coming definitely wasn't sleep, but could have been close to it. Things went completely black as if lights had went out, but I hadn't closed my eyes. I knew that the lights were still on, though. Because I knew this feeling all too well to not be used to it by now.

I was still humming softly as I fell.

I felt the sharp corner of something dig into my shoulder blade and I winced, but I didn't let it show or even turn around to acknowledge its presence. Instead, I continued my calculus at the tender age of eight. But pi this, pi that, infinity infinity… I yawned and shook my head, rolled my shoulders in an effort to shake of the boredom that this class filled me with. It was all the same old stuff that I learned on my own awhile back in a place that I couldn't quite remember as clearly.

"Mello," the teacher called, stopping their lesson to single me out. They did that quite often. "Am I boring you with my lesson?"

_Frankly, yes._

"No, ma'am. Please-- continue." I smiled politely and her eyebrows raised as she turned back to the chalkboard. I let out a long breath and slouched in my seat, blinking hard to stay awake.

"Mello… _Mello…_" I heard a voice behind me. "_Mello, here!_"

The teacher's hand froze in the middle of an equation, but she didn't turn around as she said, "Is that a note?" It creeped me out sometimes, how teachers seemed to know everything that was happening in their classroom without seeing anything. She hadn't even snuck a peak around as she was writing.

Daniel quickly slid the note underneath his leg on the chair.

The teacher turned around on her heel. "Mello, care to explain anything?"

I blinked. "Unless by explain you mean the problem on the board, then no, ma'am, I don't." I swallowed as she sauntered over to my desk and stood right next to me. She held out her hand as if expecting something to magically pop up in it. After a minute, she began to tap her foot impatiently, other arm crossed with a piece of chalk still in it. She nearly snarled and went to Domeni, only a desk behind me.

"Hand it over," she demanded.

"Hand what over?" he asked nervously, feet kicking the legs of my desk.

"You _know_."

Domeni waited a minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Valuable class time was slipping away, and I could see the relief on the other students' faces, all older than Domeni and I save for two particular ones. Most of the students had begun to lose all interest, turning back to their work or whispering quietly amongst themselves.

"Well…?" the woman said irascibly. "I'm still waiting."

"Uhhmm…" Domeni said, not knowing what to do. I turned back to him and pulled my hand across my neck in a sign for "No!" I didn't want whatever he had written to be seen by the old hag and read to the class, and, if it were serious enough, _Roger_. Domeni pulled his hand up as if to shake hers, but instead, he gave her a high-five.

I rolled my eyes and let my head slump back as if to say, "You idiot."

Domeni shrugged and mouthed the words, "I'm sorry!"

Some kids in the class laughed at the deranged child. They knew that the teacher would chew his ass out for that one, but they were surprised when she did the opposite.

The woman, known exclusively for her strict way of teaching and many, many rules, smiled. Widely. She put her hand on her hip and told him in a high manner, "Very good work on your test yesterday, Daniel. It's what's expected out of a new student." She turned to eye the redhead in the corner who had began to slink down in his chair at her words. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Matt, take those wretched things off while you're in my class," she ordered. Matt reluctantly pulled the goggles on his face down so they hung from his neck. The woman continued up the aisle of desks again, and to the board. "Don't even know why he's in my class…" she seemed to mutter to herself.

In the time it took for her to get back to the board, Daniel had thrust the note into one of my hands. I moved it so the person's back in the front of me was covering it completely.

_Mello, what do you remember?_

I sighed. This business again? Already?

_I don't remember shit,_ I scrawled. _Leave me alone._ Freak. I tossed it back at him and heard a small, almost inaudible yelp. I half-hoped the corner of the note had hit him in the eye.

I didn't know this kid. I never knew this kid. He was a creeper who liked to catch up with me in places and do "friendly" things. I was always confused with his personality towards no one but me, and it scared me, honestly. Every time, I would snap in his face and say something along the lines of, "I don't know you! Leave me alone!" But the only thing I wanted to know was…

Why did he keep coming back?

_This isn't the boy I know._

"Wake the fuck up!" a woman's voice yelled, and I knew that it wasn't part of the classroom memory. Pain splintered all throughout my side. I winced before even opening my eyes, rolling over on the side that _wasn't_ being kicked. "Wake up you piece of shit!" Were they allowed to say shit like that to you in places like these?

"For fuck's sake! Quit kickin' me!" I yelled angrily, standing up. "I'm up, I'm up!" I put my hands in front of me in a mock surrender, if only to keep the psycho lady from beating me with the huge pole she had in her hands or to keep the lady behind her from _fucking tazing me_ with the _tazer_ she had in her hand. And they put _me_ in the squishy box! I eyed the women curiously, and the two of them looked extremely familiar, but I was too drowsy and still swimming in my mind to even think about any more remembering at the moment. All I could figure was that they looked very cliché, each in a short, very revealing white nurse's outfit, minus the red cross and hat. They both had a waistband cinched tight that had a whole bunch of _goodies _strapped to it, and by goodies I don't mean candy. I mean torture, and not the good torture. Their shiny, black leather boots were stilletoe'd and ran up to their knees. By the way things looked, I thought I was about to be part of some cheap porno!

Each woman grabbed one of my arms and practically yanked me out of the door (and I was right… it was next to the window/mirror) and down an extremely narrow hallway, barely allowing the three of us through, dimly lit by piss-yellow can lights. The tile and walls were stained an ugly citrine, almost making me gag, it was that bad. The woman with the tazer held my right arm in one hand and had her tazer jabbing into my ribs with the other.

I turned my head toward her, hair flopping. "Hey, can you ease up on that thing?" I asked.

She responded by shoving it harder and gritting her teeth. "Shut up, pretty boy," she spat.

"Well, sorry!" I shot back at her.

The other woman sank her perfectly manicured nails into my arm and rhetorically asked, "Why do we have to deal with vermin like _you_?"

"Oh, that's not cool," I said nonchalantly, attempting to flip my hair out of my face without hitting either of the she-devils next to me.

The two of them both slammed me against one of the walls, face first. My head was jammed sideways and they shoved me harder against it, completely smashing the side of my head and the whole front of my body. I could've gotten out of that if I wanted to, trust me. I could even do it without getting tazed, but I wasn't sure what else I'd have to go through on my way out, _and_ I'd have to get Matt, too. If I knew where he was. How could I be so sure he'd still be in the hospital, or even be _alive_?

So my best bet was to wait it out until I was at least… 80% sure what I was doing. And until then, I'd let these ladies make mince meat out of my face against a wall. To be completely honest, it was kind of turning me on.

Ahahaha, they wish.

"What did you say?" one of them said. "C'mon, repeat it."

I thought back for a moment. Did they really want me to repeat _that_? Seriously? Wow. "Uhhmm, I said, 'That's not cool.'" I scoffed. "That's it." They shoved me harder against the wall, and I groaned. One of them was pushing me in the completely wrong place…

"That's _it?_" the other said. "I don't think that was it, Sandra. Do you?"

"No, Victoria… I don't. I think he said something else." _Sandra_ pushed the tazer harder against my ribs and I could practically feel its charge starting to pulse. _Victoria_ withdrew something from her waistband and jammed it against my left ass-cheek and I fought back the urge to playfully go, "Ooh, feisty!"

Oh wait.

Shit!

Shit!

SANDRA!

She seemed like suck a sweet, nice girl…

I turned my head to the one pushing the tazer dangerously hard into my ribs. "Hey, you don't remember me?"

She could have spit in my face right then with the words she said. "Of course I do. I fucking hate low-life men like you. You disgust me, you bottom-feeder." And, get this, then she DID spit on me. Like, right on my cheek. It was fucking gross. I bent my neck to wipe her nastiness off onto my shoulder and turned to the other girl.

"And you… you're from the bar…" I narrowed my eyes as if to better see her in the shit-lit hallway. I thought you hated her!"

She looked puzzled. "No, I never said that."

I loosened myself from the wall a bit, but Sandra pushed me harder. "Yes, yes you did."

Sandra bent her head around me to look at Victoria. "Did you say that?"

Victoria shook her head frantically, dark brown hair moving with it. "No! I would never--"

"Yes she did!" I yelled over her. "She said these words exactly, 'That slutty bartender. I hate her so much. She sleeps with every guy she meets at the bar that she likes. Like some kind of programmed hooker.'" Don't ask me how I remembered it word-for-word or could even recite it at a time like this. But at the moment, it was my last resort.

Turn them against each other.

"I'll be damned! You fucked me behind my back!" Wow, Sandra sure wasn't aware of how really _wrong_ that sounded. "You fucking bitch!"

"I never said that! He's lying!" Victoria denied, still shaking her head. Beads of sweat had begun to form on her forehead.

Sandra loosened her grip on me. "It sounds _just _like something you'd say! You backstabbing, good-for-nothing WHORE!" She let go of my completely and flailed her arms like a pissed-off girl, which is exactly what she was. "I can't believe you!"

"Sandra, keep it together!" Victoria yelled, holding her hands up in front of her as if to tame a wild animal, which is what Sandra was about to _become_. There was about to be an all-out cat-fight. I sure as hell would not miss that. "You're losing sight of our mission!" Ha, the way she said that word, _mission_, made them sound like… secret spies. Or something. I nearly chuckled.

"Mission my ass! It's nothing without my trust in you, and that's long gone! Out the window!" _If there were any windows in this god-forsaken place…_ I noted silently. She shoved her hand out and caught Victoria, tazing the shit out of her, not stopping until she would be either brain-dead or just dead. Damn, girls were viscous.

When Victoria was on the floor and Sandra thought she was close to dead, Victoria's hand shot out and grabbed Sandra's ankle, pulling her down to the ground. She landed on her skull with a loud CRACK! I winced as a deep carmine stained the tile. She struggled greatly to get on all fours and taze Victoria again. Once Victoria was down (for good… I was sure of it), Sandra fell down in a huff as blood rushed from her like a dam had broken loose.

I waited a minute.

Two minutes.

Three minutes.

Valuable escape time slipped away as I waited to see if either one was alive, or conscious. I poked each one of them with the toe of my sock, watching them roll over unresponsively. I really had no feeling toward either of them at the point, and seeing them lying there dead was actually a huge relief, especially since I hadn't killed any of them.

At least the world was free of two FUCKING INSANE ASS PSYCHOS.

Jesus Christ, I'd _never_ forget that.

I turned back to the direction that we'd been heading and continued down the seemingly endless hallway.

**[[WHAT THE FUCK. Sorry that was really boring/weird… I really wasn't sure what should have happened, but I figured this would be a nice little fit. I really wanted Sandra to come back sometime in the story, and what better than to make her the opposite of what she was in the beginning? XD (Has anyone noticed that I apologize a lot in these?) Anyway, reviews?(: I love you all, read on!33]]**


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